


Three Sixty-Five

by 852_Prospect_Archivist



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: M/M, Other: See Story Notes, Plot What Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-10
Updated: 2013-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-11 09:10:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 25,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/796469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/852_Prospect_Archivist/pseuds/852_Prospect_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A year in the life of.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Three Sixty-Five

## Three Sixty-Five

by Sange

For Once In My Life is an Old Blue Eyes standard. It was written by Murden/Miller and doesn't belong to me either. 

Sorry for keeping you waiting! Thanks to 2 of 2 for her beta job, all mistakes are mine. For Rosie, as always.

The boys aren't mine. The words are. Most of the words are in English. Some aren't.

This story is a sequel to: Father Figure 

* * *

* * *

**JANUARY**

He wasn't afraid of dying. 

But it wasn't supposed to happen like this. 

He didn't want to die alone, bleeding and helpless, in a stinking alley. 

The broken asphalt was cold and wet beneath him. The puddle in which he lay felt like icy slime against his skin. The copper tang of blood was thick in his mouth and as he fought to draw oxygen into his heaving lungs, he tasted the nastiest of city filth. Burnt cordite, and the stench of wet garbage, dog shit and automotive oil, clogged his nostrils. 

Driving rain fell against his body. It created a cacophony of tones as it slapped against the pavement, thudded onto garbage and pinged against the metal of the disposal bins. His lungs were filling with blood and each laboured breath rasped and rattled. His heartbeat, growing sluggish now, slowly pulsed in his ears. 

He struggled to move, to push himself up and, for the first time in his life, his muscles could not obey. A lightening bolt of pain surged through his chest so he forced his eyes open, instead. The pavement looked slick and shiny but its surface was scored with miniscule cracks and roughened by loose pebbles. Iridescent oil rainbows floated atop the water in which his cheek lay. 

He heard the scuffing footsteps approach; heard the shout of alarm and fear. 

He reached out with his senses then relaxed a little when he found the sound of a single, racing heartbeat. 

Blair's heartbeat. 

He filtered out the keening sirens of the approaching emergency medical vehicles, still too far away to help. Instead, he clung to the cadence of Sandburg's heart, allowing it to anchor him. 

His guide's hands were strong and rough as they lifted and turned him, warm and gentle as they cradled him against the cold, hissing nylon of his jacket. 

He burrowed his face into his partner's chest and listened to the rumble of his beautiful voice. 

"Shh, big guy, it's okay. I'm here now. You're gonna be okay, man. Everything's gonna be okay." 

Blair was crying. 

His head lolled back and he looked, through the rain, into his guide's face. He wished he had the strength to reach up and brush the tears away. He smelled the acrid, bittersweet odour of fear that clung to his partner. 

Blair was afraid. 

'Don't cry, Sandburg,' Jim Ellison thought and longed for the breath to speak the words aloud. 

"Shh," Blair told him, again. "Don't try to talk. Don't be afraid. I want you to save your strength. Listen, man. Simon and the ambulance are coming, now. They're almost here, Jim. I need you to hang on for me. I need ..." 

He tried. He really tried to keep his eyes open but he was just so tired. 

'I'm not afraid.' Jim Ellison thought as his eyelids fluttered down. 'I love you, Chief,' 

He surrendered to the strength of the arms that held him, content in the knowledge that he wasn't alone. .  
'*** 

**MARCH**

_For once in my life, I've got someone who needs me_ _Someone I've needed so long_  
 _For once, unafraid, I can go where life leads me_ _And somehow I know I'll be strong_

She was utterly beautiful in her passion. Blair watched the play of expressions that crossed Christine's face as she rocked with increasing urgency over him. Muted, throaty gasps of pleasure rose in an escalating crescendo. She threw her head back, the cords of her neck delicately delineated. Her back arched and reluctantly Blair dragged his hands from small, firm breasts. He wrapped long shining strands of ashen hair in his fists and pulled her down to him, claiming her lips. The stroke of his tongue in her mouth was as intimate as his cock's thrusts in her slick, wet heat. She shuddered and he captured her cry in his mouth as she climaxed. Groaning his own release, moments later, he followed her over the edge. She sank down to cover him, panting and gasping. Grudgingly, Blair's fingers escaped the silken trap of pale hair to sooth over her sweaty back and curving flanks. His fingertips explored the moist place where their bodies remained joined and then he raised his hands and cupped her flushed face in his hands. Gently, he kissed her forehead, each eyelid and the tip an exquisite nose. 

"Wow." 

Christine grinned at him. 

"Wow, yourself," she replied. 

She gingerly lifted herself off him and then snuggled down beside him, sliding one slender arm possessively over his midsection. 

"That was nice." 

"Yeah," Blair Sandburg agreed. "It was." 

"Your partner calls you an obfuscator but you're really a master of distraction, aren't you?" 

Blair shifted uneasily, reaching down to catch the edge of the condom. He half-rolled from the woman, sat up and presented her with his back. He carefully removed the condom from his swiftly fading erection, tied it, and dropped it into the garbage can. He felt Christine's blunt, square-cut fingernails graze his spine and he shivered, lightly. He looked at her over his shoulder. 

Christine smiled but her dark eyes were serious. 

"That's what this...the third time," she gestured, "was all about. So you wouldn't have to answer my question." 

She stretched lazily, inviting his eyes. The lamplight played over smooth supple skin. Shadows caressed the intriguing curves and hollows of her body. 

'Please, Chrissie,' Sandburg thought. 'Please don't do this.' 

He swiped sticky fingers on the hem of the sheet and then turned, clambering to his knees. He leaned over the woman, gently touched his lips to hers, and then drew away. 

"I had fun tonight," he said softly. "I always have fun when I'm with you." 

She raised her hand and feathered her fingertips across his cheekbone. 

"But?" 

Blair shook his head. "It's late." He consulted his watch and, deliberately, presented her his most engaging smile. "Actually, it's early and I should be getting home." 

"To Jim," Christine said quietly. 

She pulled away and climbed from the bed. Her jerky movements, as she dragged her robe on and belted it, seemed suddenly defensive. 

"Tell me, Blair. You're what? Almost thirty-three? You have a full time job, a healthy pay cheque. Why are you still living in Jim Ellison's loft? In Jim Ellison's storage room?" 

Sandburg sank to his haunches and watched the young woman with veiled eyes. 

"I thought you liked Jim." 

Christine smiled sadly. "I do," she admitted. "He's a sweet guy. If I had met him first, I might even have dated him. But I didn't. I met you and I...I think I could love you, Blair." She spread her hands. "I think I'm falling _in_ love with you." 

Mechanically, Blair Sandburg shook his head. He kneed his way across the mattress and reached out and captured strong fingers. He nuzzled her hands and then lifted brilliant, blue eyes to her face. 

"I like you, Christine, " he stated certainly. "I _really_ like you." 

Another unhappy smile claimed soft lips. 

"But you love Jim," the woman murmured. 

She pulled a hand from his grip, reached up and gently brushed dark curls from Blair's forehead. 

"He's my partner," Blair said firmly. 

Christine's smile widened. Dark eyes searched Sandburg's handsome, almost exotic features. 

"He almost died," Sandburg continued. His fingers tightened on her hand as though willing her to understand. "Hell, he _fucking_ died. Twice. They lost him twice on the operating table..." 

"I know," Christine broke in. "I was there, remember? I sat with you in emerge for hours." For the first time, her voice raised slightly. "But that was almost three months ago and he recovered, Blair. Miraculously quickly, I think the doctors said. He's fine now. He went back to work last week, didn't he?" 

Deliberately, she collected herself. 

"We've been going out for nearly six months and I know how close you and Jim are. I've seen you together. You work with him. You live with him. And a couple of times a week, when you're not busy with Jim, you and I get together." 

Christine drew in a deep, steadying breath. 

"I'm a nurse. I've dated cops before. I _know_ cops. And a lot of them manage to have partners _and_ relationships." Her quick grin was surprisingly impish. "Sometimes they have spouses...sometimes they even have kids." 

The woman's fingertips trailed lower across a whiskered jaw. Her smile died. 

"I'm twenty nine, honey. I'd like to have someone in my life. I'd like to come _first_ in someone's life. And I'd really like that someone to be you." 

The silence rose uncomfortably between them. Christine sighed and pulled away from Blair. Her fingers dropped from his face. 

"But that's not going to happen, is it?" 

Blair swallowed hard. "Chrissie, I'm sorry. I don't want to hurt you." 

The woman nodded. Moonlight pale blonde hair rippled around her face and settled against the shoulders of her robe. When she spoke again, her voice was suddenly brisk. 

"You going to have a shower before you go home?" 

Blair nodded. He climbed from the bed, completely at ease with his nudity. He stood before the nurse and lifted a tentative hand to gleaming hair, then touched his fingertips to the soft swell of cheek. 

"Chrissie," he began. 

Christine stiffened. 

"Don't." 

Blair's hand fell helplessly to his side and then slowly he began to gather up the scattered clothing, thrown off so urgently several hours before. He was half way to the bathroom when Christine's voice stopped him. 

"Why don't you tell him, Blair?" she asked, unexpectedly. Despite her own anger and disappointment, her tones were compassionate. "Tell him how you feel." 

Blair paused in the doorway of the small adjoining room. He turned to look at Christine. 

"Jim knows I love him," he said flatly. "There's nothing left to say." 

* * *

Scarcely more than a promise in pink, the pale rays of the dawning sun crept uncertainly through the skylight and pressed muted, insubstantial kisses against Jim Ellison's face. For long moments, he drifted languidly between sleep and awareness, vainly trying to grasp the shimmering, tenuous thread of his dreams. And then, like a big cat, he arched sinuously beneath the bedclothes. The motion dragged soft material against the pleasant ache of his morning hard on. 

'Jesus Christ,' he thought, his mind's voice more than slightly indignant. 'It's goddamned Saturday. Why the hell am I awake?' 

Cautiously, Ellison extended his hearing beyond the gentle barrier of the white-noise generators and a crooked grin touched his lips. Instinctively, he zeroed in on his partner's steady, regular heartbeat. Blair was home from his date with his pretty little nurse. Blair was home and moving quietly around the kitchen. 

Involuntarily, Jim's hands snaked over his sleep-warmed body. He worried the pebbled erections of his nipples and imagined that it was a pouting, full-lipped mouth sucking them. His fingertips lingered for a moment on the raised scar that scored his ribs and then delved down beneath the elastic waistband of his boxers. As the fuzzy, obscene images of his half remembered dream flickered indistinctly against his eyelids, he gripped himself. The fingers of his left hand gently cupped and rolled his balls and the calloused strength of his right hand closed loosely around his cock. For long moments, he excited himself with the lightest of touches. The ball of his thumb smoothed irregular circles over the silky, wet head and his groan was soft and low. He gathered pre-cum as lube, slicked his palm, and stroked tender flesh. Small jolts of pleasure swiftly shifted into throbbing imperative. His grip firmed and he yanked at his erection with increasing purpose. His legs fell open lewdly and he gave a final, urgent thrust upward and grunted softly as hot cream spilled over the back of his hand. 

Jim Ellison yawned hugely and carelessly wiped his mess against the sheet. Contentedly, he settled back within the warm nest of bedclothes and listened to the subdued sounds from downstairs. He heard the rustling of paper, the mechanical click of buttons, and the rough scritch of a pen--no pencil--against newsprint. Blair was writing...doing the crossword. He listened to the hiss and gurgle of the coffee machine, an irregular counterbalance to the tinny music that was ensnared by Blair's headphones. Idly, he tried to make out what Blair was listening to. Mariah Carey, Jim decided. 

As the oily, rich scent of brewing coffee launched a full-scale assault on Jim's nostrils, his dark lashes fluttered and raised. Bleary blue eyes opened reluctantly. Ellison stretched again, and then dragged the hand that gently cradled his balls from his sticky boxers. He rolled from the bed, pulled off his underwear and stripped the sheets from the mattress. He stuffed the soiled items into the hamper. He slipped on his robe and then selected clothes for the day. Jeans and shirt bundled in his arms, he moved downstairs to the bathroom to have his shower. 

After his quick ablutions, Jim Ellison stood in the doorway of the kitchen. He shifted the insubstantial weight of the towel around his neck and smoothed it once more over his sleek, damp hair. He eased his well-muscled body against the wall and took the opportunity to watch his partner. 

Blair Sandburg must have sold his soul to the devil because he seemed to have scarcely aged in all the years that Jim had known him. He sat like a kid, half-turned on the high-backed kitchen chair, with one lean, muscled, denim-clad leg twisted sinuously around its wooden frame. A neatly folded newspaper rested on the table in front of him. Blair's head was bent to study the clues to his crossword puzzle. A yellow pencil, gripped between his thumb and forefinger, danced mid-air, he absent-mindedly kept beat with the music that poured into his earphones. The overhead light washed down over the long, curly hair and infused it with streaks of copper and auburn. Dishevelled strands tumbled softly over the collar of his shirt and fell over a high, intelligent brow. 

The younger man looked remarkably well rested for someone who had arrived home at dawn. He was still dressed in the jeans and button down shirt he had worn the night before but as Jim cautiously dialled up scent, he smelled the subtle odours of flowery soap and unfamiliar shampoo. The kid must have showered at Chrissie's. 

The detective straightened and walked into the kitchen .He moved to the counter, took mugs from the cupboard, and fixed two cups of coffee. He placed one in front of Blair and grinned as his partner jumped. 

Startled blue eyes rose to his face and then an unhurried, radiant smile lit Blair Sandburg's face. 

"Hey, big guy," Blair said, warmly as he tugged his earphones down around his neck and fumbled to turn off the Sony Discman. "You're up early." 

He snagged the ear of the white, ceramic mug and pulled it toward him, bending his neck to inhale the fragrant steam that twisted upward. 

A shimmering rope of dark, curling hair drifted over his forehead and, unable to resist, Jim reached out and brushed the errant strand back. 

Gruff affection shaded his voice. 

"And you're late, Wally. I warned you before that if you broke curfew again, I'd have to take your car keys away." 

Blair's shoulders hunched and the earphones dangled around his neck like a misshapen collar and leash. 

"Gee whiz, Dad," he responded lightly, by rote. "I'm sorry. It won't happen again, I promise." 

"Riiight," Jim snorted. "Until the next time." 

He settled back in his chair and reached for his cup, automatically dialling down touch and taste as he sipped at the scalding coffee. He hesitated, hating his need to ask the next question, but needing to ask it more. 

"So how went the date, Romeo? You guys are getting pretty serious, huh? Have you popped the big question yet? I mean, you've been going out for a while now," he continued. "What? Four, five months? So, I guess living together is the next logical step, right?" 

Blair frowned. He shook his head. 

"As a matter of fact, Christine and I won't be doing much of anything together anymore, " he replied, quietly. "Let alone moving in. We're not dating anymore, man. Last night was a sort of," he struggled to find the words. " Farewell fuck, I guess." 

Surreptitiously, Ellison dialled up his senses. Sandburg's heartbeat and breathing remained steady. His temperature was normal. Shamed relief at Blair's admission battled with his rage that a little bitch may have hurt his guide. Neither emotion was particularly worthy, so viciously, he tamped them both down. He plumbed the depths of his soul and allowed the remaining sympathy to thread through his words. 

"Sorry, Chief," he murmured. "I thought you and Chrissie made a cute couple." 

"Couple of what?" Sandburg returned immediately, but his tones were flat, lacking their natural inflection. He hunched his shoulders and bent forward, just a little, as though his stomach ached. 

Ellison's pale blue eyes narrowed and searched Blair's averted face. 

"You okay, Chief?" he asked. His next words were awkward, reluctant, and yet no less sincere for that. "Do you... want to talk about it?" 

For the second time that morning, he had managed to surprise the younger man. Blair Sandburg's brilliant blue gaze swept up to examine his face. 

"What's this?" Sandburg demanded. "Should I mark the date on the calendar? Has hell frozen over? Is James Ellison really _offering_ to talk about emotional stuff? Should I go up and check your room for a pod, man?" 

"Fuck you," Jim replied, without rancour. The hint of a smile touched his lips. "See how long it'll take before I ever offer again." 

Blair sighed. He tugged the headphones from around his neck and placed them on the table before him. His fingertip stroked twisted black wires. 

"We...I guess we discovered that we both wanted.... different things." 

He peered at Jim through long, dark lashes and read the compassion clearly written there. Blair shook his head, and then straightened his shoulders. He smiled sweetly at his partner. 

"So what're you doing up so early, man? It's Saturday and we're not working." A thought occurred to him. "Simon didn't call?" 

"Would we be sitting here shooting the breeze if Simon had called?" Ellison scoffed. He paused, reluctant to admit that Sandburg could effortlessly lure him from his bed by simply being home and making coffee. 

"Thought I'd take a run up to Home Depot," he prevaricated. "Pick up some lumber and get a start on those bookshelves for your room." He considered the younger man. "Why don't you come, too?" he suggested and then grinned. "Hey, I might even be persuaded to spring for breakfast." 

Sandburg's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "What sort of breakfast?" 

Longingly, Jim thought about Wonderburger's egg and sausage breakfast muffin. He sighed. No way Blair would allow Wonderburger for breakfast. Pale blue eyes shone as he compromised. 

"Frittata at Tony's?" he suggested hopefully. 

Blair shrugged. "Sure," he replied without enthusiasm. He didn't share Jim's penchant for huge, block-wide hardware stores, but neither did he particularly feel like being alone. "Just lemme change my clothes, man." 

Ellison drained his coffee. "Better move it then, Junior. Before all the good wood is gone." 

Obediently, Blair lifted his cup. A few moments later, he rose and walked to the counter and handed the mug to Jim. Their shoulders brushed companionably as they cleaned up the few dishes. When Sandburg turned, the solid, well-muscled body, standing inside his personal space, blocked his way. 

"Christine is a nice lady," Jim said slowly, uncomfortable as always using words as medium to communicate. A man of action, he wished he shared his guide's fluency with language. "These...differences between you...how much do they have to do with me? I mean I sort of got the impression lately that she was a little...put out by the amount of time you spend with me." He forced a smile. "And as much as I enjoy the company, Chief, I need you to know that I'm okay. I really appreciated all your help during my rehab but I _have_ recovered." 

Blair stared at the round white button at the centre of Jim's shirt and then raised a slightly shaking hand. With unerring accuracy, he lightly pressed against the scar hidden beneath Jim's shirt. 

"You died, man." 

Soft, slightly accusing words were uttered in a low, faraway tone. 

Jim's powerful hands curved around the strength of his shoulders and Blair's eyes, the colour of autumn skies, rose to Jim's face. 

"Christ, there was so much blood. I was fucking _swimming_ in your blood." 

"I'm fine, Chief," the older man responded quietly, firmly. "I'm here and you're here and _we're_ fine." 

Jim Ellison's pale, winter-blue eyes met and held the younger man's gaze. But Blair saw nothing cold. Instead, Jim's eyes gleamed as brightly as sunlight reflecting on snow. For long moments, they watched each other and then, with a muttered oath, Jim's fingers tightened and he pulled Blair to him. His arms slid around a slight, youthful body. 

"I know, kid," Ellison murmured against dark curls. "Jesus, Blair. I know." 

Of course, Jim knew. Who could better know the pain of holding a dying partner in his arms? 

Sandburg nestled into the strength of the embrace. He tucked his head against Jim's chest and listened to the steady, reassuring thud of Jim's heart. Consoling words, as soft as a lover's endearments, were whispered into his hair. When, finally, Blair tensed, Jim's arms relaxed and fell away. 

Blair cleared his throat. "When Alex...when I took my plunge in Rainier's fountain, how long was it before...? When did you stop worrying about me?" 

Jim's smile was utterly devoid of humour. 

"Never," he replied. "I never stopped worrying. And sometimes I actually think it was easier when you were a civilian. At least then I could _try_ to make you to stay in the truck." He paused, striving to find the words to explain. "But after you picked up the badge we tossed at you, I knew...I _knew_ what you faced as a cop. The ugliness. The shit." 

Ellison drew in a shaky breath. "I knew that any day you could walk into a situation that where you could be hurt...or killed..." he exhaled slowly. "And the worst thing is that you'd be there because of me." 

"How...? How do you handle the fear?" 

The pressure in Ellison's chest eased a little. Muscles rippled as he shrugged broad shoulders. He reached out and, more gently, pulled Blair back to him. 

"I made a promise to myself to try to watch my partner's back like he watches mine," he said softly. "To trust myself to protect my partner as well as he protects me." 

Blair shook his head. Long, tangled curls shimmered with a myriad of soft colours. "Some Blessed Protector I make," he muttered contemptuously. "Where the fuck was I when you were shot?" 

Jim's hand came up and buried itself in Sandburg's hair. His fingers twisted in shining strands and firmly he tugged the younger man's head back. He smiled into Blair's eyes 

"Arresting the bastard that tried to kill me," he replied, firmly "Looking for me. Finding me. Keeping me breathing until the cavalry arrived. In short, you were exactly where you were supposed to be." 

The next shake of Blair's head was aborted as Jim's fist tightened, holding him still. 

His voice hardened. "Exactly," he reiterated. "Where you're supposed to be." 

They stared at each other for long moments and then, slowly, Ellison's neck bent. 

They had kissed before. Many times. Playfully. Small pecks to reassure. But never like this. Never standing, body to body, their arms wrapped around each other, as close as lovers. 

Blair Sandburg couldn't have escaped if he'd wanted to. He froze at the chaste touch of soft lips against his own. His eyelashes fluttered down over his eyes. And then, without volition, and despite the words he had spoken to Christine only an hour before, he opened his mouth. 

For just an instant, he felt Jim's hesitation and then, surprisingly, Ellison's lips firmed. His tongue slipped into welcoming warmth. 

Jim's eyes closed against a sensory onslaught as tastes exploded in a sudden whirling confusion of colour and sound. Instinctively he reached for his dials. 

His senses thrummed and sang. He could feel the musky heat rising from Blair's body. The enticing scent and flavour of Starbuck's Nanino Supremo mingled with flowers and sweat, and were all overlaid by his partner's own unique tang. 

He gathered the younger man even closer and savoured the shifting of their clothing. Denim scraped against softer denim. A belt buckle chinked. Cotton shirts whispered. Buttons clicked together. Blair's lashes fluttered, restless curls rustled. His sweet, gasp of breath was caught in his throat and the too-fast rhythm of his thudding heartbeat resounded loudly within Jim's chest. 

When he felt Blair's withdrawal, Jim struggled to release him. His fingers dragged reluctantly from clinging curls. His arm slipped grudgingly from slim muscled shoulders. 

Deliberately, he pulled a marginal distance away, watching his partner. 

Blair took a single step back and regarded the older man. 

"Well," he said. 

He stretched up on his toes and bounced. 

"Well," he repeated. Blue eyes, bright with curiosity and something much more elemental, searched a handsome, square-jawed face. "You are _so_ full of surprises today, big guy." 

Jim Ellison smiled, knowing he was glimpsing the boy that Blair had been. 

"You kind of managed to surprise me, yourself, Chief." he replied, huskily. He cleared his throat and shook his head. "So, maybe we've both discovered that life is too short to be spent in a rut." 

"Ruts suck, man," Sandburg agreed. 

His face was calm and his voice was matter-of-fact. But a flush had risen in his cheeks and his heart raced wildly as though he had just chased a perp over several city blocks. 

Jim Ellison regarded the younger man, thoughtfully. 

A line, established years ago, had just been crossed. He had taken the first step and his partner had met him halfway. He smiled again as he retreated farther from Sandburg. 

"We'd better get a move on," Ellison said briskly. "But do me a favour before you go change?" 

"What?" 

"Clear your shit off the table." 

* * *

**MAY**

_For once I can touch what my heart used to dream of_ _Long before I knew_  
 _Someone warm like you_  
 _Could make my dreams come true_

The distant mountains swallowed the sun. Dusk fell softly over the city and the streetlights flickered on. The damp, misty day faded slowly into a damp, misty evening and the gathering shadows embraced the motionless figure that stood on the balcony watching the city unfold below. 

Jim Ellison was a tall man, with strong, handsome features, and an intense gaze that seemed to pierce the darkness. For long moments, he stood in the night air, savouring the moist, cool fingers of the breeze that stroked his face, ruffled his sleek, dark hair, and teased the pant legs of his tailored slate-grey suit. 

Finally, he moved, lifting his wrist to glance at the face of the slender, silver Seiko. He frowned. Turning, he stepped through the sliding doors into the bright, welcoming warmth of the loft. 

"We're going to lose our reservations if you don't step on it, Chief," he warned, speaking loudly enough for Blair to hear him. "So, if you don't want yesterday's leftovers for your birthday dinner, I suggest you..." 

Jim's words halted abruptly as Sandburg emerged from behind the slatted double doors that closed his bedroom off from the rest of the loft. Jim's breath caught in his throat as the younger man offered him a sweet, uncertain smile. 

Blair had exchanged his usual workaday button-down shirt and Dockers for a sweater and jeans. The sweater, a fine knit cashmere, the same electric blue as Blair's eyes, had been a birthday gift from Jim. Kitten-soft wool clung lovingly to the muscles of the younger man's shoulders and chest and swept inward to snug across a washboard stomach. The dark blue denim of his new jeans was so dark it was almost black. It sheathed the curve of his hips, hugged the length of his lean legs and then broke gently across the glossy black leather of old Doc Martens. 

Blair halted under Ellison's scrutiny. His grin died. 

"C'mere," Jim ordered him quietly. 

Obediently, Sandburg stepped across the floor to his partner. Jim raised one hand and his fingertip of his forefinger gently touched the gleaming silver hoop that graced an earlobe. 

"I was wondering what had happened to my wild hippy boy," he said huskily. 

He reached around Blair, and ignoring the unspoken protest, pulled the leather tie from thick, dark curls. Carefully, he fluffed silken strands and then looked down at his partner. His knuckles gently grazed a smooth shaven jaw and then slid lower to stroke a soft sleeve, much like he might pet a small animal. 

"It's nice to see he hasn't disappeared entirely. I miss him sometimes." 

Jim's hand fell away and the connection between them ended. 

Suddenly bereft, Blair shivered. He struggled to keep his voice light. 

"What were you saying about reservations?" he asked. 

"That they'll give our table away if we're late," Jim replied with a quick grin. Absently, he pocketed the thin leather strip from Blair's hair and then looked down at his partner. 

Blair nodded and started to turn toward the door when Ellison spoke again. 

"Grab a jacket," he added. "It's cool out." 

El Mono Morado, for those who knew or cared, was Cascade's newest, trendiest restaurant. Blair Sandburg's eyes were round as he followed the haughty, tuxedoed maitre d' through the richly appointed dining area. The man stopped before a linen draped table, plucked the reserved card from it's pristine top, and then drew the chair back and held it as Blair seated himself. He carefully placed two leather bound menus before the men and leaned forward to light the candles. 

"Yves will attend you shortly, gentlemen," he said in frosty, French-accented English. "Please enjoy your meal." 

Sandburg shot a quick glance at his partner. 

"Hope you brought your credit card, man," he said dryly. "This is gonna cost the earth." He shook his head and the twisting strands of his hair barely brushed the shoulders of sweater. "What're we doing here, anyway?" 

A winged eyebrow rose as Jim measured the younger man with a glance. 

"Major Crimes wanted to throw you a party," he reminded Sandburg. "You said 'no'. But, somehow I couldn't let the occasion of your birthday go totally unremarked. After all..." he teased. "How often does Blair Sandburg turn thirty three?" 

"Just this once," Sandburg promised immediately with a quick grin. "With any luck at all." 

He reached for one of the menus, opened it, and scanned it. 

"Food looks good," he announced, cheerfully. "They serve some really exotic stuff here." 

The flame from the candle painted a dancing pattern of light against the plane of his cheek and gleamed within the blue of his eyes as he glanced at his partner through the curving sweep of his lashes. 

"But maybe _you_ should hold off ordering anything too adventurous, man, since it would be totally _uncool_ to spend what's left of my birthday in the hospital emergency nursing you through an allergic reaction to a strange spice." 

Amused, winter-blue eyes crinkled at the corners as Ellison retrieved the second menu and flipped it open. 

"I'll do my best to resist temptation, Emeril," he promised dryly, searching hopefully through unfamiliar names for something that sounded like a steak and baked potato. Relieved, he found what he was looking for and shoved the menu aside. 

Blair studied his menu and then drew in a sharp excited breath. "My God. They serve nyama choma. Do you know how long it's been since I had nyama choma?" 

"What exactly is nyama whatsit?" Jim asked curiously. "And why would you eat it? It sounds like some sort of disease." 

Blair regarded him indignantly. 

"It's beef ribs, man. Okay, what _I_ ate was actually water buffalo. And I had it in 1989. We were in Africa. Well, more accurately, the sub-Sahara--the Great Rift Valley, to be exact. Our group encountered a nomadic tribe of herdsman who slaughtered one of their animals to feed the members of the expedition. It was a real honour--they actually measure their wealth by the number of animals they have, you know. We would have _like_ seriously _dissed_ them, man, if we _hadn't_ eaten it. Anyway, it was really good. They roasted the meat with coriander and garlic and..." 

With delight, Jim Ellison regarded the emergence of his partner's anthropology postgraduate personae, seen too seldom these days. He settled back in the comfortable chair and let the rich tenor of his guide roll over him. 

Several hours later, the dishes had been cleared away and the cheque was paid. They lingered over their coffees, each reluctant to have the evening draw to a close. Finally, Jim Ellison sighed and rose to his feet. 

"Come on, birthday boy," he said softly. "I think we've overstayed our welcome. Frenchie's getting apoplectic. We'd better get out of here." 

"Yeah." Blair agreed. His sigh echoed Ellison's. He pulled on his light leather jacket, hesitated, and then reached out to briefly touch Jim's hand. 

"Thanks for tonight, big guy," he said softly. "This was one of the best birthdays I've ever had." 

Jim eyed the younger man doubtfully. He'd heard the tales of some of Blair's birthday bashes at Rainier--one, in particular, thrown by Eli Stoddard. He'd actually _attended_ last year's with the gang from Major Crimes and watched while a very drunken Megan Connor had climbed atop the bar and performed a surprisingly credible rendition of Tina Turner's Private Dancer. How could a dinner with just the two of them compare with that? 

He shrugged and ducked his head. 

"Like I said, how often do you turn thirty three?" 

They left El Mono Morado and, almost immediately, Blair started shivering. The spring showers had resumed; a steady, cold drizzle. As they began walking the scant city block to where the truck was parked, Jim Ellison reached out and caught the younger man's shoulders and pulled him closer, sheltering him from the weather with his own body. As they reached the old Ford Ranger pick-up, Ellison fumbled in his pocket for his keys. He froze as Blair turned and leaned against the rain-spattered truck and faced him. 

For long moments, the two men stared at each other through misty darkness. 

"Chief?" Jim Ellison said uncertainly. He took a half step closer to his partner. 

Sandburg's right hand rose and his calloused fingers slipped beneath Jim's open suit jacket and slid up a warm, damp shirtfront to curve around the nape of Ellison's neck. Tenderly, he stroked the damp, silky hair in the little hollow of Jim's skull, just above his collar. Then his palm curved and he tugged Jim's head down, closer to him. His left hand rested lightly against his partner's heart. 

"Thanks for tonight, Jim," he repeated softly 

He delicately pressed his lips to Ellison's mouth. 

For long moments they stood unmoving, the rain falling around and on them, and then Blair turned his head fractionally and the sound of satiny skin rubbing against tender flesh roared in Jim's ears. Precisely, using only his lips, Blair memorized the shape of the older man's mouth. Finally, the tip of his tongue emerged and carefully traced the same curving line. 

The sensation was oddly too much and not nearly enough. With an impatient sound, Ellison leaned into his partner and forced the younger man more heavily against the solidity of the Ford. One hand came up to rest on the window beside Blair's head while the other buried itself in wet, frizzy curls. Jim's mouth hardened, abruptly turning Blair's gentle exploration into a real kiss. His lips opened, trapped the hot, rough silk of Blair's exploring tongue and sucked it into his mouth. 

And then, suddenly, it was over. Jim Ellison dragged his mouth up, untangled his fingers from wet, clinging strands of hair. He stepped backward and tilted his head. 

"Jim?" 

Unfocussed eyes returned to Blair's face and Ellison spoke swiftly, urgently. 

"Oh Christ, they're killing him." 

Uncomprehendingly, Blair shook his head and then, he watched his partner shudder as a sharp report echoed in the nearly empty street. Reflexively, Ellison reached beneath his suit jacket for the weapon that was sheathed in the holster beneath his arm. 

"Call it in, Sandburg. There are...two perps robbing a cabby. In the alley behind the dry cleaners." 

He turned and, helplessly, Blair caught at his arm. 

"Wait for back-up, Jim." 

"No time," Ellison ground out. "Call it in." 

He didn't wait a moment longer but left at a dead run, moving up the street toward the alley. 

The blood pounded in Jim Ellison's ears as he sprinted swiftly, silently, toward the unlit cab that was parked askew in the dimly lit laneway. Both front doors gaped open. He ducked behind two disposal bins, his fingers curled tightly around the butt of his sidearm. 

Carefully, Ellison peeked from his hiding place behind the rusting metal containers. The fetid stink of decaying garbage filled his nostrils and swiftly, he dialled down scent as he tried to ascertain what was happening. 

'Two perps,' he told himself. 'Both young, both white. At least one of them armed. Cabby's been shot...' 

He watched as one of the men roughly hauled the inert form of the wounded cab driver from the front of the hack and rolled him carelessly to his back onto the rough, wet pavement. Swiftly, the perp searched through jacket pockets. A second man was in the car, frantically rifling the fare box and the glove compartment. They worked with gruesome professionalism, in almost complete silence. 

Jim Ellison glanced toward the street. 'Come on, Sandburg,' he thought urgently. 'I need some help here.' 

Finally, unable to wait, he extended his arm and raised his weapon toward the cab. 

"Halt. Police," he called out. His strong, clear voice echoed eerily in the alley. "Drop your weapons and step away from the car." 

The cop watched as the first man straightened, almost in slow motion, from the cab driver. The dim light reflected dully on the pistol he clutched in his right hand. His trigger finger tightened and the gun discharged once. A whining shot careened over the disposal bin and exploded harmlessly into the brick wall over Ellison's head, showering him with bits of rubble. Instinctively, ears ringing, Jim ducked, crouched and rolled from between the two bins. As he regained his feet, he fired his weapon and the carjacker's face blossomed into white shattered bone and crimson blood. He stumbled backward and then dropped heavily. 

Ellison ducked behind the cab. "Throw out your weapon," he yelled at the second man. "Raise your hands above your head." 

He straightened slowly, his arms extended, both hands steadying his weapon against the back window of the vehicle. 

"I'm not armed," the second man screamed, his voice rising in panic. "Don't shoot. Please." He lifted his hands and placed them, fingers interlocked, on his head. "I'm unarmed." 

"Back out of the car," Ellison commanded, his voice rough, hard. He gripped his weapon as he felt fear churning through his guts. "Keep your hands where I can see them." 

He heard the hurried, hollow sounding footsteps enter the alley. Blair Sandburg's huffing voice, sentinel soft, reached his ears. "Please be okay. Please be okay. Stupid dickwad. If you're hurt again, I'll fucking kill you." 

With some difficulty, Jim filtered out his guide's words and stepped back as, awkwardly, without the use of his hands, the second man climbed out of the car. 

The thug stood under the light, his mouth was working. "Please, man," he begged. "Don't shoot me." 

"Back away from the vehicle," Ellison instructed him, harshly. "And then get on your knees. Keep your hands where I can see them." 

He turned his head fractionally as his partner, police issue .38 in hand, reached him. "Check the cab driver," he told Sandburg urgently. 

As Blair hurried to obey, Ellison returned his attention to the second perp. Slowly, cautiously, he approached the kneeling man, the muzzle of his weapon trained on his head. His left hand fumbled for the cuffs at the back of his belt. The robber was wet with sweat and rain and stank of fear. Ellison rounded behind him and, with the ease of practice, cuffed one wrist and then the second behind his back. Without gentleness, he forced the man flat to the soaked, grimy pavement and, holstering his weapon, patted him down. 

"Stay put," he snarled. "You so much as blink, I'll put a bullet in you." 

He turned and hurried to the man he had shot. He retrieved the fallen pistol and shoved it into his waistband. He heard neither heartbeat, nor breathing, but he stooped, anyway, and pressed his fingers to a carotid artery to confirm what he already knew. He wiped his bloody fingers on the handkerchief he pulled from his breast pocket. His movements were slow as he straightened and approached the place where his partner knelt beside the prostrate figure of the cab driver. 

Blair glanced up, his eyes sad. He shook his head. He slowly lowered the hand he'd been holding to lay it gently on the driver's chest. 

"He didn't make it." 

Jim glanced at the cabby's bruised face, open staring eyes, and then at his chest where the rainwater washed away his blood and pooled it pink beneath him. Rage at the waste rose in him and, abruptly, he turned away. As he heard the arrival of their back up, he returned to the cuffed man and, roughly, dragged him to his feet and shoved him hard against the hood of the cab. 

Captain Simon Banks, only partially sheltered from the rain by a huge black umbrella, regarded the view before him. The detectives involved in the shooting had yielded the scene to the arriving uniformed cops and the laneway was ablaze with the lights of emergency vehicles. His ebony skin shone dully beneath the blinking red light from his unmarked cruiser. The same ruddy light was reflected on the grim faces of two of his own as they approached him. 

"Ellison, Sandburg," he barked. "What the hell went down here?" 

Jim Ellison was a bedraggled mess. His hair and face dripped. His trousers were dark with water from the cuffs to the muddy, sagging knees. Rain had spattered the shoulders of his jacket, and one arm was soaked to the elbow. The bits of garbage, that his partner was trying to brush away, clung tenaciously to him. 

Nevertheless, he straightened to attention and spoke concisely, in the even tones of a military man reporting to his superior officer. 

'We were at El Mono Morado for dinner," he said. "We parked around the corner and had just gotten back to the truck when I...we...heard...the sound of a gunshot. While Sandburg called for back up, I investigated. I took cover and waited but the cab driver had been shot and was in the process of being robbed. I was afraid the skels would finish up and take off, so I identified myself as a police officer. The dead guy took a shot at me..." 

He glanced, sideways, at his Captain. "You'll find the slug buried in the wall behind the garbage bins." He drew in a quick breath and continued, "Fearing for my safety, I returned fire and he went down. I've turned the dead perp's gun over to the Sergeant Turner." For the first time, Ellison's military bearing faltered and he allowed a note of contempt to colour his tone. "The second chickenshit was unarmed and gave himself up." 

Banks nodded and then turned to survey the younger of the men. Blair Sandburg looked in little better shape than his partner. Simon's dark eyes softened with compassion and affection, though his voice remained brusque. "Did you discharge your weapon, Detective?" 

Blair Sandburg shook his head. "No, Sir. It was mostly over by the time I...caught up." 

Simon nodded again. His rough, short-cropped curls sparkled with a myriad of raindrops. A big paw eased his spattered wire-rimmed glasses from his face and, tiredly, he swiped at his eyes. 

"Cab driver?" 

It was Sandburg who answered. "He's dead, Sir." 

Carefully, Banks folded his glasses and tucked them into the breast pocket of his trench coat. He reached out and a large hand gently squeezed Jim's arm. This man was not only a member of his squad, but one of few people he considered a friend. 

"How are you?" he asked quietly. 

Jim Ellison jerkily dipped his head. 

"I'm okay, Captain." He reached beneath his suit jacket, unholstered his sidearm, and held it out. "IA'll need this." 

Automatically, Simon checked the safety and then dropped the firearm into a voluminous pocket. Wordlessly, he accepted Ellison's badge. 

"You want us to come to the station to make statements, Sir?" Blair Sandburg asked. 

Simon shook his head. He retrieved a cigar from yet another pocket. Slowly, he eased it from its cellophane wrapper and clipped the end. Sheltering it tenderly from the rain, he lit it. 

"Tomorrow is soon enough," he replied, harsh, redolent smoke punctuating the words. Dark eyes focussed on Sandburg's face. "Get your partner home and take care of him. I'll clean up this mess." 

"Yes, Sir." 

"Make sure to Mirandize the motherfucker, Simon," Jim Ellison broke in. He raised his hand and smoothed it over his sleek pelt of wet hair. "I didn't read him his rights." 

"Don't worry, Jim," Banks replied, puffing on his cigar. "It'll be done by the book." He hesitated and then reached out again and awkwardly patted Ellison's arm. "You guys go home, get some rest, and then come in tomorrow morning to fill out a formal report. I think we've got everything we need for now." 

"Yes, Sir," Ellison replied, but he remained unmoving until Blair tucked a hand beneath his elbow and gently tugged. 

"Come on, big guy." 

They had taken only a few steps away when Simon spoke again, his voice gruff. 

"Blair. Happy birthday, kid." 

Sandburg raised his free hand and waggled his fingers at the words. Together, the two detectives moved from the alley. 

* * *

He had toed off his muddy shoes at the door and stripped off wet socks. The cuffs of his trousers were cold and slimy against the tops of his feet but the centre of the kitchen seemed to be as far as he could move on his own. Jim Ellison tilted his head and listened to the quiet sounds of his partner behind him. Sandburg had insisted on driving them home and Jim had yielded the keys to the truck without protest. He heard them clank in the basket by the door and then Blair's hand was on his back, soothing gentle circles against the filthy, wet material of his suit jacket. 

"You're sopping," Sandburg scolded, as though hanging out in the rain should have rendered a different result. "Come on, Jim, let's get your jacket off." 

Obediently, Ellison reached for the buttons, only to have his hands brushed impatiently away. Blair pressed a clean, dry towel at him. 

"Here, dry your hair." 

"I stink like a sewer," Jim said suddenly. "I smell like I've been rolling around in garbage." 

"Shh, s'okay. Dial it down," Sandburg murmured as he eased the wet jacket and empty shoulder holster from the older man's shoulder. "I'll start a shower for you." 

Gratefully, Jim nodded. The rush of adrenalin that had sustained him earlier was swiftly abating and he was suddenly bone weary. He closed his eyes but the battered face of the dead cab driver seemed to be painted on the backs of his eyelids, so swiftly he opened them and watched his partner, instead. 

With the tip of his tongue trapped between square, white teeth, Sandburg carefully worked on the knot of Jim's damp, striped silk tie. He drew the two ends apart and then began unbuttoning Ellison's pale blue shirt. His fingers hovered uncertainly as they reached Ellison's belt and then swiftly, impersonally, he unbuckled and separated it. He unbuttoned Jim's trousers and reached for the zipper. 

Swiftly, with unknowing strength, Ellison's hand reached out and captured Blair's wrist and held it firmly. 

"I think I can handle it from here, Chief," he said, amusement quirking his lips. 

He heard Sandburg's heart take on a staccato cadence and watched, enchanted, as a slow rush of warmth coloured his partner's cheeks. 

"I'll turn on the shower,' Blair muttered. 

They stood motionless for a moment and then Jim Ellison loosened his grip on the younger man's wrist. Soothingly, his fingers rubbed at the reddened skin. 

"I'm sorry," Ellison said softly. "I _am_ sorry about the way the evening ended, Chief." 

Blair shook his head, his eyes firmly fixed on Jim's chest. 

"Have your shower, Jim," he said quietly. "We'll talk about it later." 

"Are you _blaming_ me for what happened?" Ellison asked with hurt and disbelief. 

Again, Blair Sandburg shook his head. His hair was drying and the twisted ends shifted quietly across his shoulders. 

"No," he replied evenly. "Lemme turn on the shower for you. I'll grab you some sweats. Just leave what you've got on outside the door. I'll deal with them." 

Blair ducked around the bigger man and walked to the bathroom. 

Jim Ellison groaned as he felt the hot, needle sharp spray of the shower against his muscles and, automatically, he dialled down. He reached for a knob and lowered the hot water a fraction. For a moment, he stood beneath the spray, allowing its cleansing warmth to sluice over his body and then mechanically, he reached for a bar of soap. As clouds of steam rose above the tub, methodically, he lathered himself from head to toe. He closed his eyes as he washed his hair with a scant capful of Blair's Burt Bee's shampoo. Unbidden, the face of the cabby appeared before him. Young-looking, behind the bruises, he had seemed little older than a boy, really, dark eyes staring at nothing as he breathed his last on the cold, garbage-strewn pavement. 

'That was me only a few months ago,' he thought and for the first time understood the horror his guide must have felt when he had found him laying, seriously wounded, in the alley. 

Ellison groaned. 

He forced his eyes open and the shampoo suds drifted down his face and stung his eyes. He lifted his face into the spray and instinctively sought out his guide's heartbeat. He listened to Blair moving around the apartment and gradually, very gradually; he relaxed enough to finish rinsing. He turned off the water and pulled the shower curtain aside. He selected one of the large fluffy towels that Blair had placed on the top of the toilet. Beneath them were neatly folded sweats. Briskly, he dried himself and pulled on the soft navy fleece over damp, warm skin. He hesitated, and then opened the bathroom door. 

The loft was dim, lit only by several of Sandburg's vanilla scented meditation candles. A fire had been kindled in the hearth, and the leaping flames banished the damp spring chill. Blair sat in the corner of the larger couch. 

"Come sit with me," he said, patting the cushion beside him. 

Jim Ellison heard the undercurrent in the younger man's voice and, uneasily, he shifted his weight from bare foot to bare foot. His voice, when he replied, was louder than he intended. 

"Could we do this tomorrow, Sandburg?" he pleaded. " I'm tired. I want to go to bed." 

Slowly, Blair turned his head and his eyes, reflecting the flames from the fireplace, glowed blue and gold. 

"Come here, Jim." 

Grudgingly, Ellison obeyed. He lowered himself contrarily into the corner of the couch the farthest away from his guide and stubbornly fixed his gaze at a point just beyond Sandburg's head. 

"Look at me, Jim." 

Unable to resist the command, Ellison complied. The cushions shifted as Blair leaned toward him and pressed a smooth, cool tumbler into his hand. The rich, old wood scent of a couple of fingers of Jim's Glenkinchie whiskey wafted upward. Ellison stared uncomprehendingly at the drink and then looked again, unwillingly, at Sandburg. The kid had changed out of his damp clothes. His new sweater had been exchanged for a soft plaid shirt. Comfortable, baggy old jeans covered his lower body. His feet were encased in woolly socks. 

"You tryin' to get me drunk, Chief?" 

"I think you need to relax," Sandburg replied. "I want to talk about what happened tonight." 

Ellison stared down into the amber depths of the whiskey and imagined that he could smell each musky year that the alcohol had aged in it's oaken barrel. Automatically, he dialled down taste, lifted the tumbler and took a healthy gulp. 

"For Christ's sake, Sandburg," he said, breathlessly. "Let's not do this now." 

Blair's voice was soft, soothing. "I want you to tell me what happened tonight." 

Jim shook his head. He took another swig of Glenkinchie. "You were there, Chief. You know what happened." 

A sad smile touched Blair's mouth. "All I know, big guy, is that one minute we were...celebrating my birthday, the next, you were telling me to call for back-up." 

"We were kissing," Jim corrected him. "I was kissing you." 

Sandburg's breath hitched in his throat and then he nodded. 

"We were kissing," he conceded. 

Jim shook his head, raised the tumbler and recklessly swallowed the rest of the alcohol. It burned across his palate and down his oesophagus and then exploded with fiery heat in his stomach. He leaned forward and set the empty glass on the coffee table and rose to his feet. He paced to the balcony and stood staring out at the grey, rainy night. He shivered. 

"I dialled up hearing when we...got to the truck," he said softly. "I didn't want anyone...sneaking up on us. And then I heard him...the kid driving the cab. He was begging for his life...pleading for someone to help him." 

Jim Ellison passed his hand across his eyes and then turned slowly back to his partner. 

"They were beating him, Chief...they wanted money and he had less than fifty dollars. He tried to tell them that he'd just come on shift but they didn't believe him." Ellison held out his hand to the younger man. His voice strengthened. "They _fucking_ shot him while I listened. They dumped him on the ground while I watched. He was dying in the rain while they went through his pockets. What was I supposed to do, Chief? What should I have done differently?" 

Blair Sandburg watched his partner through veiled eyes. Slowly, he shook his head. His voice when he spoke was quiet, "Nothing, man. You did everything just right." 

The older cop laughed; a soft, humourless sound. "Then why are you mad at me?" he demanded. "And don't tell me you're not. I can _fucking_ smell it on you." 

Dark lashes swept up and for the first time since they'd arrived home, Blair Sandburg met his partner's gaze. His autumn blue eyes blazed with a fury that was an almost tangible thing 

"You stupid fuck," Sandburg said softly. His mobile mouth twisted into a joyless grin. He struggled to rise from the soft, overstuffed cushions of the couch. "You just don't _get_ it, do you?" 

With measured, deliberate steps, he moved across the room; a terrier stalking a pit bull. He stood a scant foot away from Jim Ellison and looked up at him. 

"You're a cop...a professional. You're trained to react in situations--I _know_ that," Sandburg snapped. "You're also a sentinel, hardwired to protect the members of your tribe." He reached up and his fingers curled tightly around Jim's upper arm. His voice slowed as though he were speaking to a particularly dim child "But, even if you've forgotten what happened the last time you went alone into an alley, man, I haven't." 

Abruptly, Sandburg released his partner and his hand tightened into a white-knuckled fist. Automatically, Ellison braced himself for a blow. It never came. Blair regarded him for a moment and then turned away 

"I was scared shitless, Jim," the younger man's voice was soft and ragged. "I was so fucking scared." 

Standing with his back to Ellison, Blair didn't see the empathy and compassion that glowed in soft blue eyes. 

"So, what do you want me to do, Blair?" Jim Ellison countered quietly. "Tell me and I'll do it. Do you want me to quit the force? Stop being a cop? How about crossing the street? After all, a car could run me over. Should I stop crossing the street, too?" 

One stride took him to his partner. Ellison reached out and drew Blair's stiff body hard against him and held him tightly. One hand curved around Sandburg's waist, the other draped over his shoulder and chest. Ellison bent his head and his whiskey scented breath stirred the curling strands around Blair's ear. His voice gentled. Words dragged like silk over stone. 

"You told me shortly after we got together that I was your 'Holy Grail'. You told Simon I was a walking crime lab. For a lot of years, too many years, I think you saw me--I let you see me--as some sort of superhero. I think you're just now _getting_ that all I am is a man--flesh and bone and blood--and that I'm going to die, Chief." 

He heard Sandburg's hissed intake of breath and his arms tightened around a slender, muscled body. 

"I _am_ going to die," he continued, gently, inexorably. " Probably before you. Not tonight--hopefully not soon--but one day I'll die." His shoulders rose and fell in the negligent shrug of someone speaking the simple truth. " Despite my senses or maybe because of them. And you won't be able to stop it, Blair. You can't control it. And it's okay, Chief. It's _okay_." 

Sandburg bit off the anguished moan that rose from his gut. He shook his head and soft, twisting strands of his hair seemed to reach up, like living entities, to caress Jim's sensitive skin. Ellison dialled up scent and allowed himself the simple pleasure of drinking in his partner's unique essence. Rainwater had diluted the subtle spice of Blair's shampoo. Sweat had intensified his natural musk. 

Ellison's words came soft and sweet. "It's okay." 

For long moments, they stood together and then Blair Sandburg tensed and pulled away. Reluctantly, Jim's hold slackened. Blair took two steps forward and then turned back to face his partner. The firelight lovingly traced the high, elegant lines of his cheekbones and blazed within the too-bright blue of his eyes. He held out a shaking hand toward Ellison. 

"Please," he said. His voice broke. "Please, Jim, I need..." 

The words faded. Sandburg's head went down and dark curls curtained his face. 

Ellison waited patiently. He knew his partner was no coward. He'd seen him stare down murderers and rapists, terrorists, and perps high on drugs. He'd seen him stand up to the Mayor, to the Cascade P.D., to Simon. He'd seen him, for Christ's sake, lie to a phalanx of reporters and cameras to protect his sentinel. So, he waited now, determined to give Blair whatever he needed. 

Finally, Sandburg looked up. Defiant blue eyes met Jim's gaze. The straight, even jaw firmed. 

"I want to touch you." 

Expressionless, Jim Ellison's hands slowly moved to grip the hem of his sweatshirt. He pulled it up and over his head and then tossed it carelessly toward the couch. He faced Blair and the flames from the fireplace and the candles sketched shifting designs on the defined muscles that were shielded beneath smooth, pale skin. He reached out and caught Blair's fingers, drawing them to his chest. 

"Whatever you need, Chief." 

Jim's hands fell to his side and, patient again, he waited. 

Painstakingly, perhaps a little curiously, Sandburg's fingers shadowed over the raised, ragged edged, red scar that crossed Jim's chest. Again and again, he smoothed the healing flesh as though he might erase the wound with gentleness alone. A soft sigh puffed from between his lips and then his hand rose and stroked lightly over Jim's short, dark hair. 

"Silky," Blair muttered. 

He cupped a tense muscled cheek and gently tilted Ellison's face toward him. His vivid eyes swept strong features and then his fingertips feathered over Jim's cheekbone, traced the bridge of his nose and stroked, butterfly soft across the curving line of Jim's mouth. 

"Can I kiss you, man?" 

Jim Ellison drew in a swift breath, the new air expanding his chest a scant millimetre. He spread his hands. 

"Whatever you need, Blair." 

He smelled the enticing scent of Sandburg's pheromones merge with his own, as the younger man shifted closer. 

When he spoke, Blair's voice was suddenly, shockingly urgent. 

"Sit on the couch." 

Mechanically, Ellison turned and moved to the sofa. He lowered himself into the corner in which Blair had been sitting and settled back into the deep cushions. His winter blue eyes rested on the youthful lines of the younger man who watched him. The adrenaline that had pumped through his body had transmuted into physical desire and, suddenly uncomfortable, he shifted. 

Blair smiled, a slow, knowing smile. He followed his partner to the sofa and stood for a moment at that unusual vantage point looking down at the older man. And then he took another step forward and knelt on the couch beside Ellison. He reached out and gently petted short dark hair and then his fingers slid over Jim's jaw and gently tilted his face up. Blair's head lowered. He touched his mouth to Jim's. The tip of his tongue meticulously remembered the outline of Jim's lips and then slid like warm, wet velvet between them. The palms of his hands lightly skimmed over broad shoulders, the scarred, muscled chest and then lowered to play against curving ribs and hard stomach. 

Desperately, Ellison reached for his sensory controls and dialled them down as low as he dared. He felt drunk, giddy as the younger man explored his body. Gentle fingers brailled his face, grazed his throat and stroked his hair while a warm tongue stroked against his teeth and the roof of his mouth. He uttered a soft protest when the kiss ended but Blair silenced him with a soft, reproving 'shh'. Warm breath whispered against his cheek. 

"Just relax, man." 

Blair Sandburg took his time. He tasted, examined, probed. He licked the slight cleft in Jim's chin and then drew square white teeth across Ellison's lightly stubbled jaw. As Jim leaned back, Blair gently suckled the slight bump of an exposed Adam's apple. His hands lightly cupped rounded pecs. The cushions depressed as he shifted closer and his mouth trailed lower to follow his hands. 

"Christ," Ellison muttered. "It feels so good. _You_ feel so good." 

It was like being worshipped by the wind. Arching his back, Jim Ellison offered more of himself to the fleeting, questing touches. Pleasurable sensations overwhelmed him and his hands finally rose to restlessly comb through Blair's curls and he pressed the younger man closer to the nipple that he suckled. Jim's erection throbbed, uncomfortably trapped behind soft navy fleece and he tensed as a warm hand skimmed the front of his sweats. In that instant, reality reasserted itself. His fist tightened in rain-softened hair and gently he tugged Blair's face away from his body. 

He spoke softly, urgently. 

"Are you _sure_ , Chief?" 

In the dimness of firelight, Sandburg's smile was feral, all teeth. His right hand pulled impatiently at the elastic waistband of Jim's sweatpants. 

"Pull these down." 

The command in the younger man's voice was unmistakable and, within moments, the soft material was down around Ellison's knees. His cock, unconfined, jutted semi-hard between his legs. 

Blair shook his head, escaping the fist that gripped his hair, and sat back on his heels. His fingers moved to the tiny white buttons of his shirt and slowly, deliberately he unbuttoned them. He stripped the flannel from his body and tossed it carelessly atop Jim's sweatshirt. He lifted blue eyes to Jim's face but, as though he had never seen it before, the older man was gazing at his bared chest. Blair reached out and caught one of Ellison's hands and brought it, unresisting, to his body. 

Wonderingly, Jim allowed his fingertips to lightly stroke through soft, dark fur and reverently touch a silver hoop that pierced Blair's erect nipple. 

"Beautiful," he muttered. "You're beautiful." 

For a few moments, Sandburg allowed the older man to touch him and then he kissed the back of Ellison's hand. Using it as a lever, he shifted so that he was on the floor, on his knees, in front of Jim. Firmly, he tugged Jim's sweatpants down and urged muscled legs farther apart. The palms of his hand smoothed over Jim's knees and thighs and then he leaned forward and his head lowered. 

"Oh, Christ," Jim groaned. 

He was in his forties. He'd had countless blowjobs over the years performed by any number of people, as part of foreplay or as a quick, filthy way to get his rocks off. But never quite like this. _Never_ like this. 

Sandburg didn't use his hands. He nestled into the juncture of Jim's legs, his neck bent and he burrowed his face against Jim's lower body. Soft, supple lips lightly pressed against a firm stomach. His tongue circled Jim's navel and then plunged inside. He ducked his head and licked the pale, tender skin above dark pubic curls. 

Jim Ellison trembled, sank lower on the couch, exposing more of himself. 

"Chief, please." 

Blair ignored the plea. He took his time, using his tongue and lips to explore the tastes and textures of all the hidden hollows and secret places that his mouth could reach. The flat of his tongue swiped the inside creases where Jim's legs joined. He buried his nose into the nest of dark curls, inhaled deeply, and gently mouthed the wiry hairs. 

Finally, he turned his attention to Jim's cock. He licked the rigid, throbbing shaft from root to tip and left it gleaming. He lapped at Jim's lightly furred balls and nuzzled against them, tenderly. His hair had fallen over his face and, as the coiled ends dragged across sensitive flesh, Ellison groaned and bucked up seeking greater contact. Instantly, Blair glanced through dark twisted curls. His pupils had expanded with passion and eclipsed the blue of his eyes. His voice was a soft imperative. 

"Sit _fucking_ still, man." 

With a groan, Jim settled back but the muscles of his thighs stood out like corded bands of steel beneath raw silk. The palms of Blair's hands soothed small circles across Ellison's legs as his head bent again. He kissed the head of Jim's cock and eagerly licked up the pearly drops of pre-cum. His mouth opened wider. His tongue probed an intriguing slit, delved beneath a hooded flap of foreskin and then swirled intricate patterns against exposed velveteen tissue. 

Ellison thrust up and then, unable to remain passive any longer, reached out and gently smoothed back soft curls. For long moments, he watched the erotic vision of his cock being worked between lush, wet lips. He twisted the hair in his fist to the nape of Blair's neck; his second hand curved around a hollowed cheek. 

"Please, it's so good, Chief...so bloody good...but it's not enough." 

His fingers tightened around the knot of hair in one hand; his second hand splayed against the side of Blair's head to hold him still. He arched forward, forcing himself deeper into enveloping heat. Immediately, an accommodating mouth opened wider. He had been teased too long and, urgently, Ellison sought to establish the back and forth rhythm that would allow him to come. 

Blair's lips tightened firmly around Jim's cock. Spit and suction created obscene, slurping sounds whenever Jim pulled back. Blair's throat became a slick, snug channel that yielded with each forward thrust and the inevitable scrape of teeth against supersensitive flesh provided a jolt of pleasure-hurt that was almost instantly soothed by the drag of a flat, wet tongue. 

It couldn't last. Ellison felt his balls tighten and draw up toward his body. Barely coherent, he tried to warn his partner. 

"Jesus, Chief...I'm going to..." 

Jim bit back his hoarse cry of completion. 

In mute response, Blair Sandburg's fingers dug into Jim's thighs and he drove forward, gulping convulsively as spurts of bittersweet semen flooded his mouth and throat. Eagerly, greedily, he swallowed the scalding offering and then gently nursed Jim's spasming cock through its last pleasure twinges. 

Carefully, Jim Ellison disentangled his fingers from Sandburg's curls. His palm petted the younger man's head and then lowered to stroke the smooth golden-hued skin of Blair's shoulders and back. 

Finally, Blair Sandburg drew away. He pressed a quick, wet kiss against the inside of Ellison's thigh and sat back. Suddenly self-conscious, he looked up afraid to see rejection in his partner's face. Raw defiance faded as he recognized the soft affection that was directed at him. 

Jim pulled up his sweats and then reached down and caught his Blair's hand and hauled him up. 

"C'mere," Ellison said gruffly. 

He pulled Blair down onto the sofa. His arms came around his partner's strong, compact body, holding him close. 

"You've done that before," Jim said with soft certainty. There was no question in the quiet words, perhaps only a little curiosity or an invitation to share a confidence. 

Blair's heartbeat spiked within his chest and his breathing was suddenly shallow and too fast. But the look he bestowed on his partner was oddly bland. 

"Guess it has to do with my hippy upbringing," he returned, easily. "You know, that whole 'it's the person not the package' thing." 

Jim sighed softly. 

"So, what about you?" 

Ellison's awkward words might have been construed as an offer but Blair wasn't sure that he could handle any greater intimacy than the one they had just shared since he was quietly freaking out already. He buried his face against Jim's chest, his mouth instinctively nuzzling the wounded skin he found there. Only someone with acute hearing could have heard his muffled response. 

"Next time." 

* * *

**JULY**

_For once in my life, I won't let sorrow hurt me_ _Not like it's hurt me before_  
 _For once I have someone I know won't desert me_ _I'm not alone anymore_

Simon Banks was a Baptist, both by birth and inclination. But when the Cascade Police Department's air-conditioning mysteriously ceased to function during the year's heat wave from hell, he found himself wondering--obsessing--about the possibility of life lessons and Karmic justice. 

'Sandburg's influence,' the Captain of the Major Crimes Unit thought, with a mental snort of disgust. 

Automatically, he aimed his fiercest scowl at the young detective. Blair must have felt his regard because he looked away from the interrogation room and flashed a beaming smile toward his big commanding officer. 

As always, that bright grin defused his irritation. Banks sighed softly. He edged a little farther from the collective body heat rising from the gaggle of cops who had gathered to watch the interview. Carefully, he eased his bulk a touch closer to the illusory cold of the smooth glass of the two-way mirror. A big man, he felt the heat more than most, and had spent the past week alternately cursing the weather and the incompetent maintenance staff. Too damp to care anymore, he felt a single bead of sweat emerge from beneath his hairline, track down the side of his face and disappear into the collar of his sopping shirt. 

Simon sighed again. 

Investigations involving children were always the toughest cases for cops to work and this one, inherited from Homicide, had been more difficult than most. Someone had been preying on Cascade's most vulnerable of citizens--it's street kids. Four youngsters--three boys and a girl--had been raped, mutilated and murdered; their broken bodies dumped in front of different city monuments. Homicide detectives had toiled with workmanlike proficiency and had come up empty. When the last body had been discovered in the Mayor's parking space, at the behest of His Honor, the investigation had been turned over to Major Crimes. 

Led by the team of Ellison and Sandburg, Banks' detectives had meticulously reviewed, revisited and reworked Homicide's files. With single-minded purpose they laboured to catch a sadistic kid-killer. Overtime hours had been the norm; holidays had been deferred, all in order to bring a monster to justice. 

Strangely, the break in the case, when it came, had little to do with Jim Ellison's sentinel abilities. Rather, it had arrived, courtesy of the junior partner of the team. After hundreds of hours logged on the phone, dogged legwork and intricate computer searches, it was Blair Sandburg who had come up with a possible suspect. 

The case his detectives had tenaciously built against Stanley Harrison, a vice-president of Cascade's Union of Municipal Employees, was entirely circumstantial. Lacking direct evidence and reliable eyewitnesses, the only alternative was to entice the suspect into incriminating himself. To this end, Harrison had been invited to Police Headquarters on the pretext of being nominated for the Mayor's new 'Civic Pride' award. Harrison had been ushered into an interrogation room where it was 'cooler' and now patiently waited for the arrival of the detective who would assess his eligibility for the 'award'. 

The commitment of Simon Banks' unit was demonstrated as, shortly after the union leader's arrival, the detectives, along with Joel Taggart, had begun to congregate outside of the interrogation room. With the possible exception of Brian Rafe, whose only nod to the weather was to don a splendid white linen suit, and Megan Connor who seemed to blossom more with every degree that the temperature rose, the detectives collectively reflected the same misery that Simon felt. And yet, despite the hellish conditions, they stayed. 

Pride in and affection for his 'men', flooded through Captain Bank's chest as he surveyed the dedicated unit. His glance lingered longest on the face of his youngest detective. Sandburg's cheeks were flushed and wet. His curls, caught up in a leather tie were streaked with sweat but he bounced excitedly on the toes of his sneakers like the kid that Simon remembered. He grinned irrepressibly up at his partner as they whispered, heads close together. Jim Ellison, whose heightened senses should have rendered the heat totally unbearable, looked strangely calm and relaxed. 

Simon cleared his throat. 

"I think we've kept Mr. Harrison waiting long enough, gentlemen. Shall we get this show on the road?" 

Ellison glanced at his superior and nodded. Sandburg patted his partner's back. 

"Go get 'im, big guy." 

With a grimace, Jim retrieved his lightweight blazer from Sandburg and slipped it on over his sweat-stained dress shirt. Carefully skirting his colleagues, he moved to the door of the interrogation room. As he stepped inside, Simon's attention immediately turned to the suspect. 

The union bios had described Stan Harrison as a 'gentle giant' and that description was apt. Tall and broad-shouldered, he had a head of distinguished, prematurely silver hair and a neatly trimmed goatee. He rose gracefully from the uncomfortable folding chair and turned to look at Jim. Graciously, he extended his hand for the newcomer to shake. His smile was slow and even, his eyes blue and intelligent. 

Harrison didn't look like a monster. He, actually, resembled a healthy, young Pope John Paul II. 

"Detective Ellison?" he asked, in a deep, melodious voice. 

The tall, dark haired cop nodded. "Mr. Harrison," he replied, pleasantly. "It was good of you to come on such short notice." His smile became rueful. "I apologize for keeping you waiting and for the lack of...amenities." 

Harrison waved away the words. "I'm always happy to cooperate with the police. Although..." he frowned. "I was somewhat surprised to receive your call. I would have thought with...all that's going on...the investigation into the horrible crimes that I've been reading about in the papers...the police department would have better uses for their resources than a 'Civic Pride' award." 

Mild blue eyes met and held the cop's winter ice gaze. Harrison's expression reflected concern, gentle curiosity but, almost imperceptibly, his breath quickened and the rate of his heartbeat elevated. 

He leaned casually against the chair in which he'd been sitting. "I was...also rather intrigued to hear about this...award...and that I was in the running to receive it. As a union member, I thought I was aware of all of the city's honours programmes..." 

Harrison's hands, though beautifully shaped, seemed oddly at variance with his relaxed stance. They moved here and there, touching his beard, stroking his chest, his stomach, toying with a button on his shirt. 

He smiled suddenly, a strangely smug and self-satisfied grin, and the unmistakable stench of his arousal wafted toward Jim. 

Ellison stiffened. 

"He knows,' the detective thought, with repugnance. 'He knows he's a suspect and he's _getting off_ on it.' 

Ellison fought an almost irrepressible impulse to strike the other man and, instead, forced another rueful smile. 

"Between you and me, Mr. Harrison, I have a sneaking suspicion that His Honor is looking for a little good news to distract the public," he covered smoothly. His limp, damp blazer rippled as he shrugged. 

"On the other hand, he may have a point. After all, with people such as yourself getting involved in the community, you do, inevitably, make life easier for the average cop, don't you?" 

Jim nodded toward the chair. "Why don't you sit down, Sir? Make yourself comfortable. I only have a few questions." 

He pulled out the chair opposite the scarred wooden table and flipped open a manila file folder. "Now, Sir, I understand that you have been involved in setting up an impressive number of charitable events, largely in the capacity of your union position. My list here includes..." 

Simon Banks started as a shrill, tinny ringtone--the first bars of' an old John Lennon standard--echoed loudly in the corridor. He glared at the members of his squad trying to find the offender. 

"Turn that blasted thing off." 

Blair Sandburg smiled sheepishly as he hastily detached himself from the cluster of detectives and fumbled to find his cell phone. 

'Give Peace A Chance' sounded again before he finally extracted the slender little Nokia from his pocket. He glanced at the liquid crystal display and frowned. 

"Sorry," he muttered as he pressed a button ending the annoying sound. He pressed the handset to his ear as he strode away from the group. 

Simon glowered at his departing back before refocusing his attention on the interrogation room 

"...it is, as I said, an impressive list," Jim Ellison continued. "But I think what the committee is looking for is evidence of 'hands-on' involvement. Now I understand that you are also an active member in a number of your church led charities. Let me see..." he flipped through his file. "You're a member of the parish of..." 

"St. Vincent de Paul," Harrison supplied helpfully. "I actually led the group of parish laymen that set up a local youth hostel. Forty beds, self-contained with a kitchen, job-centre and day-care on site. Supported entirely without tax dollars." 

He smiled modestly. 

Jim Ellison nodded. "Now that _is_ impressive," he said with patently false enthusiasm. 

He looked down at his papers and then glanced at the mirror, zeroing in on the spot where his partner had been standing only moments before. 

"I..." he hesitated and then rose to his feet and looked around the interrogation room. He stepped away from the table and moved to the mirror, cocking his head as though he were listening to something. 

Pervasive silence filled the interrogation room. 

Stan Harrison watched the tall detective and cleared his throat. 

"Is there something wrong, Detective? Is someone out there?" His china blue eyes narrowed. "Is someone _watching_ us? 

Simon Banks frowned as he saw the unfocussed emptiness of Ellison's face. Was he zoning? How long had it _been_ since Jim had zoned? Months? A year? 

Then, as though clearing his mind, Ellison shook his head. He turned abruptly and committed the cardinal sin of an interrogation. Without a word of explanation, he strode past the suspect and out of the room. His open file lay on the table, the information it contained only inches away from its subject. 

"What the hell?" Simon Banks growled. He looked over his assembled detectives and spoke urgently, "Rafe, get in there. Brown, you go too. Entertain Harrison...offer him a soda or something. Make sure we don't _lose_ this asshole..." 

He turned as Ellison appeared in the corridor, reached out and caught his arm. 

"What the _fuck_ do you think you're doing, Detective?" 

His tone alone would have stopped another man. Simon was forced to brace himself physically in order to halt Jim Ellison's steps. The pale blue eyes that briefly touched the Captain's face barely registered recognition. 

"Sandburg," Jim muttered urgently as he tried to escape the strong, brown fingers that held him. 

"You left a suspect alone in an interrogation room," Banks growled. 

Ellison pulled away. "Fuck the suspect," he snapped. "He--Blair is more important." 

He brushed past Banks and swiftly followed the same route that his partner had taken only minutes earlier. Simon stared after him with a sinking feeling. As much as he appreciated the results that sentinel abilities yielded, he disliked _knowing_ the specifics of those abilities. 

And _this_ was definitely in the realm of sentinel shit. 

He watched Ellison's determined strides then pushed himself away from the wall. The bond between Jim Ellison and Blair Sandburg had always made the burly Captain uncomfortable. But since Ellison's brush with death in January, the link had changed--strengthened somehow. It was almost as though Jim was constantly keyed into his partner. 

Which meant that something had happened to Sandburg. 

Swiftly, the sweat-damp material of his dress pants uncomfortably chafing his thighs, Simon Banks hurried after his detective. 

Blair Sandburg sat hunched on the tiled floor of the men's room, his arms wrapped around his shins, his chin tucked against his knees. Wild strands of hair stuck to his face as though glued by the tears that glistened on his flushed cheeks. A soft, keening sound emerged from the depths of his chest as he rocked gently back and forth. 

The door was pushed open and Jim Ellison stopped in the threshold of the men's room, his Captain only steps behind. As he finally located his partner, apparently whole and unbloodied, a little of the tension seemed to seep from his taut-muscled body. He stepped past the urinals and crouched down beside Sandburg. 

Seeming oblivious to his presence, Blair continued to rock. He muttered words in an unfamiliar, guttural language, 

_"Yeetgadal v' yeetkadash sh'mey rabbah. B'almah dee ... B'almah dee..."_

He stumbled, losing the rhythmic, singsong cadence of the words of the traditional Hebrew prayer. Crying softly, he tried again. 

_"B'almah dee ...v'rah kheer'utey...."_

Jim Ellison leaned a little closer to his partner. 

He spoke softly. "What's happened? What's wrong, Chief?" 

Blair Sandburg moaned softly. "The words, man," he said urgently. He looked up and stared at Ellison through blue eyes that were brilliant with tears. "I can't remember them. I _have_ to remember the words so I'll be able to say the kaddish." 

Cautiously, Jim settled a big, gentle hand on a rounded shoulder. He drew in a deep breath, "Did something happen to Naomi, Blair?" 

Swiftly, Sandburg shook his head. Jim carefully smoothed the hair from his face. 

"Then what?" 

Blair hesitated. "Eli Stoddard," he replied in a small voice. " His wife called from Lima. He... died yesterday." 

Jim Ellison swallowed hard and cursed the inadequacy of his words even as he uttered them. 

"I'm sorry, Blair," he said quietly. His fingers curved around Blair's upper arm. "Stand up, Chief. Come on, get up off the floor." 

Compliantly, Sandburg allowed the older man to pull him to his feet. He knuckled his eyes like a child and then leaned against the comforting strength of his partner. 

Simon Banks cleared his throat. 

Blair looked past his partner to the big Captain standing in the threshold of the men's room and stiffened, shame-faced. 

"Oh God," he said. 

With an obvious effort, he fought to compose himself. 

"Breathe," he muttered to himself. "Breathe." 

He raised both hands and raked them through his unruly hair. 

"I blew Jim's interrogation, didn't I?" he asked Simon in devastated tones. " Oh, God, I'm so sorry, man." 

He pulled away from his partner and moved to the utilitarian sink. He turned on the faucets and let the gushing water flow over his cupped palms. 

Simon glanced at Jim Ellison's face and clearly recognized the distress he saw there. Without a word to the older of the partners, he moved to stand at the sink adjacent the one Blair was using. 

When he heard the name Eli Stoddard, Banks had dredged the depths of his memory and come up with a hazy recollection of a tall, slender, older man; the only person from Rainier University who had bothered to attend Sandburg's graduation from the Cascade Police Academy. Dimly, he recalled Sandburg describing his former professor as a 'father figure'. 

Not for the first time in a thirty year career, Banks was torn by his conflicting desire to comfort a friend and his duty as an agent of the police. He washed his hands, waited until the younger man had dried his face, and then willed Sandburg to meet his eyes in the reflection of the mirror. He spoke gruffly. 

"I'm sorry for your loss, Sandburg." 

Blair looked away. 

"I'm sorry, too, Sir." Blair returned, his voice soft but steady. "I apologize for my unprofessional behaviour." 

Banks shook his head. 

"This place has seen more than its share of emotional blood-letting," he replied and swallowed hard. "Where do you think Taggart found _me_ after Darryl called last year to say that Joan had finally succumbed to her cancer?" he asked. 

He experienced an almost physical pain as he recalled the brief phone conversation he'd had with his son when his former wife died. Simon flashed a dark look at Jim Ellison. 

"Although Joel kindly permitted me a little privacy to pull myself together." 

Ellison regarded him, stony faced. 

Simon Banks shrugged. His suit jacket rippled with the movement of big shoulders. 

"Harrison is still here," he said firmly. "And no one is forgetting that he wouldn't be here at all if _you_ hadn't come up with him in the first place. So, you didn't blow anything, Detective." 

He hesitated and then turned to the young man. His dark eyes swept a pale face. "If I've learned anything at all over the years, Sandburg, it's that the death of a loved one is rarely convenient. I want you to go home, son. Take the next couple of days off. But, since I still need Jim to handle the interview with the motherfucker you brought us, let's see if we can't get Joel or somebody to give you a ride, okay?" 

Blair Sandburg drew in a long, ragged breath. 

Despite the Captain's kind words, failure, guilt and shame roiled in his gut. Unwillingly, he met Simon's compassionate gaze and nodded. 

"Yes, Sir," he replied dully. 

* * *

Blair Sandburg sat on the floor of the loft, his back braced against Jim's big, cushioned recliner. 

Only a year ago, he would have been counting off a mental list of excuses or obfuscations--or packing necessities for a hurried departure from the loft. But as he sat in the slowly darkening living room, Sandburg realized that he was just too fucking tired to indulge in such antics. If his partner wasn't able to crack Stan Harrison today, they'd just have to go after him some other way. He and Jim were good cops, surrounded by other good cops... 

Blair took another sip of Jim's fine Scots whiskey, savouring the artificial warmth it provided. Since he was in mourning, technically, he shouldn't be drinking alcohol, he supposed. But then, he'd only ever claimed to be a Jew, never an observant one. 

He shivered. 

'I should maybe turn the air conditioning down,' he thought and idly wondered where his partner was and what he was doing. 'Still at the station? Out celebrating? Or commiserating?' 

Strangely, Sandburg found it hard to care, either way. 

'If he hasn't eaten, I wonder what he'll think of eggs and toast for dinner?' Blair thought, 'I know he's not a fan of 'breakfast for dinner' but maybe just this once...and then maybe I could pretend that we're a family and we're sitting shiva...' 

Blair shuddered and hastily brought the tumbler to his lips and convulsively swallowed an injudiciously large mouthful of Glenkinchie. He coughed and spluttered. A sharp ache throbbed in his throat even as the cold, numbed part of his personality marvelled at the strength of emotion with which he had greeted the news of Eli Stoddard's death. 

He rested his head on the cushioned seat of the big chair against which he leaned. He closed his eyes and summoned an image of the tall, craggy-featured man who had played so many roles in life. 

Eli Stoddard had been his teacher, his mentor, his friend...his lover. Blair tasted the last word and then firmly shook his head, rejecting it. 

Nevertheless, with the only exception of Jim Ellison, Blair had spent more time with Eli than any other person--even Naomi. Eli had been the bridge between the academic world he'd once inhabited and the world in which he lived now. Their relationship had persisted despite the physical distance between them. 

A cynical grin tugged reluctantly at Sandburg's mouth. 

'Our relationship persisted _because_ of the distance between us,' he realized. 'If Eli and I had ever tried to spend more than a few weeks together, a couple of times a year, I wouldn't have lasted longer than any of his wives.' 

The smile slowly died. Eli had been a part of his life for more than fifteen years. Now Eli was gone; the man had slipped silently away from him like a twist of smoke dispersing into air. 

He heard the loft door open and close quietly and Blair Sandburg straightened just a little, raising his glass for another sip of whiskey. He listened to the quiet sounds of his partner's arrival and mentally catalogued them. Keys rattled into the basket by the door, jacket was hung in the closet, shoes slipped off, weapon and holster stored. 

The floorboards creaked beneath the shifting weight of his partner as Jim Ellison walked into the living room. Despite the comforting gloom that now bathed the room, Blair Sandburg was only too well aware that Jim was doing some cataloguing of his own. Heartbeat and respiration had probably been measured from the parking lot. Scent would now take in the tears and the alcohol, and gathering shadows wouldn't hide swollen eyes, red nose and messy hair from sentinel sight. 

Sandburg fixed those swollen eyes on the big, indistinct figure that had paused beside the sofa. 

"Hey," he greeted his partner. 

"Hey," Jim Elliot returned. 

He leaned down toward the couch. "I'm going put on the lamp okay, Chief?" 

Blair shrugged. "Whatever, man." 

The light flickered on and Sandburg blinked. He tilted his head back. From his position on the floor Jim looked way taller than he remembered. Finally, he met his partner's pale blue eyes. 

"So, how'd you make out?" 

"Harrison confessed," the older cop replied quietly. "We charged him with four counts of murder. He's being processed now." 

"Cool," Sandburg said, wondering why he felt no sense of elation at the news. 

He didn't ask for details of the confession or arrest, merely raised his glass in a careless salute and, recklessly, downed the last drops of whiskey. He shuddered at the taste then looked up at his partner. 

"Did you eat? Are you hungry?" 

"It's my turn to cook," Jim Ellison said. A crooked grin touched his mouth. 

"What'll it be?" he offered. " An omelette? A fried egg sandwich?" 

Sandburg arched an admiring eyebrow. "How...?" 

"Last year. When Aaronstein died in that traffic accident. His son explained some of the Jewish traditions." 

Blair nodded, surprised that his partner had been interested enough to either ask the questions or remember the answers. There was a moment of silence and Jim shifted uncomfortably. 

"Chief," he began. "I didn't know Eli well--I only met him a few times--and even if I found him a little...egocentric, well..." a nervous smile tugged at Ellison's lips, "Since I've been known to be rather self-absorbed myself, at times, I couldn't exactly hold that against him." Jim inhaled deeply. "What I'm trying to say is that I...liked him. I'm sorry he died." Pale blue eyes flickered over Blair's face. "How did it happen?" 

Blair lifted one shoulder and then let it fall. "Heart attack," he replied briefly. "He smoked." 

Jim nodded. "Did his wife mention...the arrangements? Will the funeral be here or...?" 

"His will specified no funeral," Blair said baldly. "He was cremated today in Lima." A sad, fleeting grin touched his lips. "As a Jew, Eli is even less observant than me." 

Jim nodded again. " Well, I'm sorry," he repeated. "I understand how you..." 

Sandburg stiffened. The emotional pendulum within him swung abruptly in the opposite direction. White-hot rage instantaneously melted his icy core. Deliberately, he placed his empty tumbler on the carpet and then gracelessly pushed himself to his feet. He stood in front of his partner, a little surprised to find himself trembling. 

"Don't," he snapped. "Don't you _fucking_ dare tell me that you know how I feel, man. You don't know _shit_ about how I feel." 

Angry, vivid blue eyes swept Ellison's face. 

"As far as I know, _your_ father is alive and well," Blair Sandburg sneered. "And I can count on the fingers of one hand the number of times you've spoken to him since I've known you." He drew is a quick, painful breath. "So if, God forbid, William Ellison were to die today...well, you, my friend, are _not_ the ultimate family man. So, don't you dare pretend to know how I feel." 

Only a year ago, Jim Ellison would have turned and silently walked away from his guide's anger--would have sought the sanctuary of his bedroom or gone for a long, solitary drive. But as he watched Blair, his only impulse was to comfort his partner. 

He expelled a long breath and spoke softly. 

"You're right," Jim Ellison admitted calmly. "My dad and I aren't close. We barely speak." He shook his head, " But your comparison is hardly valid since I've also never fucked him." Winter blue eyes rested on Blair Sandburg's face. " I _have_ lost lovers, Chief. I know how much that hurts." 

The rage slowly dissipated and tipped Blair, unanchored, into an emotional void. He wrapped his arms around his body. With that meagre comfort the only thing holding him together, he turned away from Jim and moved to the balcony window. The summer sun was had lazily descended to it's rocky cradle, it's final drowsy rays painting attendant clouds in shades of rose. 

Sandburg spoke softly, knowing Jim would hear him. 

"How did you know, man? *Eli*didn't...?" 

"No," Jim Ellison replied. "I smelled him on you. His semen. When we first got together." 

Slowly, he paced toward his partner watching their reflections merge in the darkened windowpane. He reached out and the curve of his palms soothed up and down Blair's arms from shoulder to elbow. 

"You never said anything. It didn't bother you?" There was only mild interest in Sandburg's query. 

Briefly, Ellison's fingers curved around Blair's arms and then resumed their soothing track. 

"It startled me," Jim admitted "You came off as so bloody heterosexual. But I needed you so fucking badly to help me manage my out-of-control senses. You could have come home reeking of _Bossy the cow_ , Chief, I wouldn't have said a word." 

Blair heard the smile in Jim's voice and an unwilling grin tugged at his lips. 

"And then, after you graduated the Academy, whenever we met Eli," Jim continued. "I smelled his pheromones. He...he still wanted you." He paused and there was a hint of curiosity in his next words. "I never smelled another man on you." 

"There were no other men," Blair began and then abruptly bit off the words because, of course, there had been another man. He leaned back into solid strength and felt Jim's powerful arms, automatically, circle his body. 

Jim was warm and for a few moments, Sandburg allowed himself the comfort of an embrace that surrounded him with the smell of masculine sweat and mild soap. 

"We weren't lovers," he remarked idly. "Eli and I. We had sex but we weren't lovers." 

Jim waited but when no explanation seemed to be forthcoming, he cleared his throat. 

"I don't understand, Chief." 

He felt the vibration of lean muscle as Sandburg shrugged. 

"Eli was my teacher," he replied. "He taught me some very important things--how to think, how to read critically, how to write a paper worthy of publication. He showed me which government grants to apply for and how to smoke a cigarette. Pleasing him in bed was just another thing he taught me." Blair smiled sadly. "What we did had very little to do with love. He...we used each other." 

He felt Jim tense and Sandburg turned his head against a solid chest to listen to the steady throb of his partner's heart. 

Ellison's voice was very gentle. "He...he didn't hurt you?" 

Sandburg hesitated. "Physically? Eli didn't abuse me, man." 

"But?" Jim asked. 

A quick, bitter grin twisted Blair's lips. 

"He surprised me," he returned. "Like any good teacher, he forced me reassess the image I had of myself. And _that_ is never an easy thing, man." He paused, considering his words. "I was seventeen the first time Eli fucked me. I'd never actually slept with anyone before but my hormones were raging and I was pretty sure that I liked girls. And then _he_ kissed me and suddenly there I was, naked in his bed and he was doing things to me and I was doing things to him..." 

A harsh breath shuddered through Jim Ellison's chest. "Did he force you?" 

Blair smiled again. "I was seventeen years old and my hormones were raging," he repeated drolly. "Prob'ly if Bossy the cow had propositioned me..." His smile failed and his words trailed away. 

"I was alone and I was lonely," he continued, the words of the admission slow and sad. "Naomi wasn't around. I was younger than my peers and I didn't have a whole lot in common with most of them. I _knew_ a lot of people but I didn't have friends--not real ones." 

"Eli was my teacher and virtually the first person I met at Rainier. I liked and respected him. He was older, experienced--renowned in anthropological circles. He...challenged me intellectually. I guess you could say he was my idol." Blair closed his eyes and leaned even closer to Jim. "When I learned that he was leaving the University...I don't know what I was expecting when I showed up at his house in the middle of the night but..." Blair's voice became an almost-protest. "He was a married man, for Christ's sake. I thought his _wife_ would be there." 

Silence surrounded them, and Jim waited patiently. 

"He seduced me," Blair said, at last. "And it didn't exactly take a lot of effort on his part--so maybe he sensed something about me that I didn't know about myself." 

He drew in a ragged breath. 

"I really liked what he...what we did together," Blair confessed quietly. "The _connection_ between us lasted quite awhile. For a long time, man, I went to him whenever he called." 

"How long?" 

Silently, Sandburg counted. "Seven almost eight years," he replied, startled. 

"Why did it end?" 

It was apparently the wrong question to ask. There was a long moment of silence and then a sigh shook Blair's chest. Regretfully, he pulled out of Jim's embrace. He tilted his head back to look at his partner. 

He lifted his hand and trailed his knuckles over the straight, clean ridge of Jim's jaw. 

"You've had a long day, old man," he said softly. "Tell you what. Why don't you go have your shower and _I'll_ make dinner. You can tell me how you nailed Harrison." 

Ellison shivered beneath the gentle caress. He swallowed hard and then nodded. 

"If you're sure, Chief." 

While Jim showered, Blair prepared a simple meal of scrambled eggs and toast. When Ellison exited the bathroom in a cloud of fragrant steam, Sandburg carried two plates from the kitchen. He smiled as the older man followed without a word of protest. Once, a long time ago, there had been a rule about eating in the living room. But over the years, that rule, like so many of the others, had fallen by the wayside. All things considered, his sentinel had been remarkably easy to train. 

Blair popped one plate on the side table adjacent the couch, placed his own on the coffee table and sank, cross-legged, to the carpeted floor. He smelled the food, felt his stomach churn, and reached for the renewed whiskey, instead. The overstuffed cushions of the couch hissed beneath Jim's weight. Ellison picked up his plate ate a few forkfuls of fluffy egg, had a bite of toast and then regarded his silent partner. 

Ordinarily, after a case, he and Blair would have spent the evening dissecting its details but, instinctively he knew, now was not the time to discuss Stanley Harrison. Instead, he leaned toward Blair and spoke gently. 

"David Aaronstein's kid told me that according to Jewish tradition, eggs and bread were the first meal after a funeral," Jim said conversationally, "He wasn't able to tell me 'why'. Do you know, Chief?" 

Sandburg retrieved a triangle of toast and nibbled a browned crust. 

"It's called the _se'udat havra'ah_ ," he replied. "The meal of condolence. The eggs represent life and renewal...like eggs at Easter." 

He hesitated. "You know, I'm actually more familiar with a lot of other cultures than I am with my own," he admitted, sheepishly. "While I was growing up, Naomi rejected Judaism as an ancient bastion of oppressive patriarchy." A quick grin tilted his lips. "Of course, she didn't much care for Christianity or Islam for the same reason." 

Slender muscled shoulders rose and fell in a careless shrug. "Eli says that because anthropologists observe so many different traditions its easier to respect _many_ beliefs than to practice only one." Blair swallowed hard and corrected himself. "Eli said." 

Blair raised red-rimmed eyes to Jim's face. Once again, he felt a tide of shame rise. 

"When Cecelia told me that Eli was dead, I guess I freaked out. He wasn't even sixty, for Christ's sake." He inhaled swiftly, and spoke the words he needed to say. "I'm sorry I dragged you out of the interview with Harrison today." 

"Stop it, Sandburg," Jim Ellison said, more harshly then he intended. He saw blue eyes widen and he gentled his voice. 

"Stop apologizing," Ellison said, more quietly. "Jesus Christ, Chief, _you_ didn't drag me anywhere. Today, after I started the interview with Harrison, I heard your phone ring. When your heart started to beat like a fucking jackhammer... _I_ cut the interrogation short... _I_ left a suspect alone in an interrogation room. Those were _my_ decisions. _I_ behaved unprofessionally and if anyone other than Simon was in charge, I'd be under suspension, now." 

He placed his fork on his plate and pushed it marginally away. He closed one hand around the sweating amber beer bottle that stood atop a coaster beside him. He sipped at the icy cold liquid and then glanced at the younger man. Pale blue eyes met and held the darker blue of his partner's gaze. 

"I am sorry, Chief," he said softly, sincerely. "If anybody freaked out today, it was me. I was listening to you. To your heartbeat. It was helping to...centre me so I could use my other senses on Harrison without zoning. Because of that, I jeopardized our case and ...embarrassed you." 

He shook his head. "Sweet Christ, Blair, you've already given up so much of your life for this sentinel thing--your degree, your career, your reputation--the least I could do is allow you the illusion of privacy..." 

Sandburg frowned. "Fuck," he said softly. And then again, a little louder, "Fuck." 

Carefully, he replaced his toast on the edge of the plate and then struggled to his feet. He stared down into the congealing mass of eggs and then, without looking at Jim, spoke wearily. 

"Can I let you deal with the dishes? I'm tired, man. I'm gonna turn in." 

Automatically, Jim nodded. He watched as the younger man took several steps toward his bedroom. At the edge of the doorway, Blair Sandburg stopped and turned. 

"You're a stupid prick, do you know that?" 

Hoping it was a rhetorical question, Jim didn't respond immediately. Blair stalked back toward the sofa, anger apparent in each tensed line of his trim, muscled body. Bypassing the coffee table, Sandburg braced his hands on the back of the couch and leaned down over his partner. Jim tilted his head against overstuffed cushions and watched, mesmerized. 

Blair's eyes blazed pure, perfect blue. 

"I'm a good cop," Blair Sandburg said softly, certainly. "I like being your partner. I like my job. I like my friends in the department. I like my _life_." 

He dragged a breath deep into his lungs. 

"I'm sick and fucking tired of you talking about all the things I've given up, Jim," he continued. " Sure, I may not be where I thought I would be, ten years ago, but who is, man? And, for everything that I lost, I've been given so much more. _You've_ given me so much more. A home, a job, a fucking place in the world." 

"I'm here and you're here..." Deliberately, Sandburg repeated the words that his partner had said to him months ago. "And we're fine. So, this is the last time we're _ever_ gonna have this conversation. Do you understand me?" 

Jim Ellison gulped and nodded. He flinched as one of Blair's hands came away from the couch and moved slowly toward his face. Strong, blunt-tipped fingers caught and held his jaw. 

"Out loud, Jim. I need to hear you say the words." 

"You like your life, Chief," Ellison husked. " I understand." 

For long moments, Blair watched his partner and then slowly, very slowly, he leaned a little closer and Jim Ellison suddenly knew that he could happily drown in the blue ocean, that incredible, gold-flecked blue ocean, in Blair's eyes. 

Sandburg's head bent and his mouth brushed lightly over Jim's lips. Sweetly, gently, he nuzzled the older man and then his fingers tightened on Ellison's jaw, urging it open. Leisurely, he explored the damp warmth within. He sucked at the rough texture of Jim's tongue, swept across smooth, hard teeth and tested soft yielding gums. Eagerly, he studied the captivating contours of his partner's hot, wet mouth. 

Jim Ellison fought for control as sensory overload threatened to engulf him and fling him into a zone. Amazing, iridescent colours and sharp, discordant sounds flowed around and through him. With an effort, he seized the enticing whiskey flavour of his guide's mouth like a lifeline and tied it to the heady, masculine musk that surrounded him. 

The kiss was over too soon and Jim was helpless to stop the whimper of protest that Blair's withdrawal dragged from him. 

The edge of a calloused thumb soothed across the satin line of his lips. Jim Ellison captured a quick, loud breath of relief that the connection had been re-established. Back and forth, with the sure, even rhythm of a metronome, Blair's thumb moved. Without volition, Jim's mouth opened again. The tip of his tongue sampled the intriguing salt and oil of work-hardened skin. 

"What are you thinking about, big guy?" Blair asked. His voice was slow and deep. It sounded like he was using his guide's voice but the timbre was different, somehow. It was sensuous and exciting, as sweet and rough as crumbled brown sugar. 

"You remembering my birthday, Jim? Did you like it when I touched you? Kissed you? When I took your cock into my mouth and let you fuck my face?" 

Jim Ellison groaned deep in his throat. Reflexively, his lips parted wider as Blair's thumb pressed harder. A fleshy pad slicked across his front teeth. 

"I wanted to do it again," Blair admitted softly. "But you never asked, man." 

Gently, he probed the tiny gap between the straight even lines of Jim's upper and lower teeth, requesting entry. Jim's mouth opened wider. Boldly, Blair's thumb pushed into damp, yielding warmth. It stroked insistently across the heat of Jim's tongue, saturating him in taste. 

"You want me to touch you, big guy? You wanna touch me?" 

Jim closed his mouth involuntarily around Blair's thumb, sucking it. He moaned softly as it was gently withdrawn then shivered as, dripping with his own spit, it was dragged across his lips. 

Blair smiled, "Turn your dials down to normal, Jim." He waited a moment and then spoke again. "Done?" 

Instinctively, obediently, Jim reached inward for the controls to his senses and lowered them several notches. He nodded at the younger man. 

Slowly, Blair pushed himself away from the couch and took a step back from the vee of Jim's legs. He felt the coffee table against the backs of his knees and carefully he eased it across the floor, putting more distance between himself and Jim. 

He studied the older man for a moment. "You okay with this?" he asked, suddenly uncertainly. "You really want this, Jim?" 

He caught his breath as Jim's eyes, glittering and grey with need, rose to his face. Ellison smiled, one of those devastating, sweet, slow smiles that even Blair only rarely saw. 

Deliberately, he palmed the front of his jeans. 

"I am fucking _hard_ here, Chief." 

Relief flooded warmly through Sandburg's body as he nodded. He reached up and pulled the leather tie from his hair and dropped it onto the coffee table. He shook his head, allowing soft, shining curls to cascade around his face. 

"Unbutton your shirt," he ordered Jim roughly. 

Reluctantly, Ellison pulled his hand from his erection and, with characteristic, efficient motions, opened the buttons of his shirt. When he was finished, he looked expectantly at the younger man. 

"Undo your belt," Blair continued. "Unbutton your jeans and pull the zipper down. Then pull your shirt out of your pants and open it." 

Again, silently obedient, Jim did as he was told. Hungry eyes swept his muscled chest as it was bared to Blair's sight. 

"God, you are so beautiful," the younger man breathed. "Are your nipples sensitive? Do you play with them when you jerk off?" 

"Yeah," Ellison grated out the one-word answer as his hands rose to rub restlessly against his pecs. 

"That's right," Sandburg encouraged him. "Show me how you touch yourself. Stroke your nipples, Jim. Now roll them between your thumbs and fingers." 

Jim Ellison's grinned tightly. "I'm pretty sure, Chief," he puffed. "That this would feel even better if you were doing it." 

The smile that answered him was openly predatory. "Then think about my mouth moving on you, big guy," Blair returned hungrily. "Think about me sucking and biting your nipples. Make them hard for me." 

"Oh Jesus," Jim groaned. His hands moved, with more urgency, against his chest. 

Blair took a step forward. He reached up, his eyes never leaving the older man, and slowly unbuttoned his shirt and pulled it off. 

"That bulge in your jeans looks uncomfortable, babe," he softly, conversationally. "Why don't you take your pants down?" 

Without thought, Ellison's hands moved to his jeans. He wriggled awkwardly as he tried to pull the tight denim over his erect cock. He pushed the jeans and his boxers down to his knees. His eyes glinted at his partner through the fine, dark curtain of his lashes. "You gonna show me yours this time, Chief?" 

"Uh huh," Blair promised, quietly. He took another half step forward. He slowly unbuttoned the buttons of his fly, smoothing his hand lightly against the denim that tightly restrained his own erection. 

"You've got a sweet cock, Jim," he said in the same quiet, conversational tones. "Long and lean and elegant, just like you. I nearly got off just having it in my mouth. D'ja like it when I sucked you?" 

"Oh Christ," Ellison muttered. He reached between his legs and loosely clasped the hard throbbing flesh between his thighs. His left hand moved to his balls and, automatically, he slid just a little lower down on the couch. 

"It was perfect, Chief. You were perfect." 

"You ever suck cock, Jim?" Blair asked quietly. "You ever let somebody put their cock in your mouth?" 

"Yeah," Ellison rasped. He smiled as Blair raised one elegantly enquiring eyebrow. Carefully, he eased his foreskin from the flushed, glistening head of his erection. His grip tightened and he began slow, deliberate jerking motions on his cock. 

"I was in...the fucking...army, Chief," he grunted. "You know...be...all you...can be." 

For long moments, he pleasured himself while, avidly, Blair watched. 

Sandburg moved even closer to the couch. Gracefully, he knelt. Gently, he rolled white socks from long, beautiful feet, grasped the frayed cuffs of Jim's jeans and tugged them down. He bunched the warm denim and shoved it aside. Swiftly, he divested his partner of cotton boxers and tossed them carelessly atop the discarded jeans. He leaned heavily against Ellison's knees and pushed himself upright, standing directly in front of the older man. 

Jim leaned back, naked except for the gaping white shirt that cloaked his wide, strong shoulders and muscled upper arms. 

"Pull my jeans down, Jim," Blair ordered his partner. Desire roughened his voice. 

Grudgingly, Ellison dragged his hands from his own body. He hooked his fingers in the soft worn denim of Blair's jeans and slowly, carefully eased them from slim hips and over a throbbing, angry-looking erection. Blair was well hung, he noted, with appreciation. His erect cock was nearly as long as Jim's own, cut, and thicker. Curiously, Jim raised one finger and drew it along a turgid, iron-hard shaft and then slid his hand around the younger man's hip and grasped one buttock. 

Involuntarily, Blair's hips surged forward. "I want your mouth, babe," Sandburg grated out. "Use your tongue. Lick the head." 

Willing but more than a little uncomfortable, slumped as he was in the couch, Ellison tilted his head. He drew the flat, wet surface of his tongue over the tip of Blair's cock. He tasted the pre-cum that beaded the piss-slit and then searched the narrow opening. He stretched his jaws wider to accommodate the entire head and sucked it in. 

Blair shuddered with pleasure. 

"Yeah," he grunted. 

For a few minutes, he allowed Jim to nurse his erection and then gently pulled out of his mouth. He leaned in a little closer spreading his legs as much as his lowered jeans would allow. "Reach between my legs and play with my balls." He groaned softly as he was obeyed. "Now lick up and down the shaft. That's it, Jim, make me wet." 

Finally, Blair drew back. He straightened and his cock, shimmering with Jim's spit, stood straight out from his body. He grasped Jim's chin, jerking the older man's face up so he could look into his eyes. 

"You take orders well, soldier," he panted. "But I'm gonna give you a choice now. You can go down on your knees in front of me and finish me with your mouth...or turn around and lean up against the couch and let me fuck you." 

He stroked his hand along the sharp edge of Ellison's jaw and his voice softened, becoming as thick and golden as liquid honey. "Anybody ever fuck that sweet ass of yours, big guy?" Gently, he petted sleek, dark hair. 

"Yeah," Jim ground out. 

Blair nodded. His fingers gripped short hair. "You want me to fuck you, Jim?" 

Ellison's eyes were glazed with need. His cheeks were hot. Jerkily, he nodded. 

Abruptly, Sandburg stepped back, his jeans dragging between his legs. He sat on the coffee table and pulled off his jeans, tossing them aside. He fixed his partner with desire-darkened eyes. 

"Assume the position, big guy. Get on the floor, lean up against the couch." 

Awkwardly, his aching erection bobbing between his legs, Jim Ellison pulled himself up, turned and slid to his knees on the floor. He spread his legs and leaned his head against the soft seat. He turned up his hearing slightly as anticipation churned deep in his gut. Behind him, he heard bare feet padding to the bedroom, rummaging, and then Blair's return. He tensed as he felt the warm hand on his shoulder. Blair's voice, gentle and low, feathered across his ear. 

"You sure about this, big guy?" 

Jim Ellison groaned aloud and reached between his legs to grasp his throbbing dick. 

"Jesus God, Chief, you really know how to spoil the mood." He turned his head to look at his partner. "Would you just do it, Blair?" he begged unashamedly. "Fuck me. Please." 

He shuddered as a warm hand moved from his shoulder to the nape of his neck, just above his collar. Strong fingers closed tightly around him and forced his head back down. Those same strong fingers lifted the tails of his shirt, bunching the material between them. A wide palm smoothed slowly over his buttocks. A warm, wet digit circled then stroked the secret entrance to his body. Blair's heat was heavy and solid and solid against his back. Blair's voice was a sweet, soft moan against his ear. 

"I'm sorry, man. I wanted to make this first time between us so good for you. I wanted to lick you and kiss you all over. Open you up with my mouth and make you nice and wet for me. But I'm too close, babe. I'm not gonna be able to make it last." 

Carefully, with exquisite gentleness, Blair's slender finger penetrated Jim's tight guardian muscle and slid into his warm, snug tunnel. Ellison gasped and reflexively thrust back against the sensation. The finger rotated in increasing circles, withdrew just a little and then plunged back in. Several times, the action was repeated until Jim was writhing with enjoyment. 

"Oh God, Jim," Blair groaned. "You're so tight, so hot inside. Two fingers now, babe. I'm putting two fingers in. Oh yeah, that's it, man. Push back against me. Fuck yourself on my fingers. God, Jesus, fuck, this is so sweet, lover." 

With increasing urgency, Jim Ellison rocked back and forth, forcing slicked strength deeper into his body. He shuddered with almost unbearable pleasure-pain as the blunt edge of one long finger brushed his prostate. And then that wonderful pressure, the intense fullness, was suddenly gone. He heard rustling behind him and he growled his frustration. His words rose in a harsh, breathy lament. 

"Please, Chief. Blair. Don't stop. I need this. I need you inside me. Please, it's so good." 

"Shh, s'okay, big guy," Sandburg exhaled softly against his temple. "Just relax, man. Take it easy. We've gotta take it slow. I'm putting my cock in you and I don't wanna hurt you, Jim. You know how this works. Yeah, that's it. That's a good boy. Bear down now, babe. Slowly. Slowly. Yeah, that's it. Oh God, yeah." 

Jim Ellison grunted and halted his restless motions as the thick, engorged, latex sheathed cock gradually expanded his passage. Finally, Blair's balls were nestled warmly against his ass. He was draped over Jim's back like a hot, furry blanket. 

Blair laughed huskily. "You're so tight, babe. It's been awhile since anyone has done this to you, hasn't it? God, Jim, you're so hot and so tight." 

He pulled back a fraction and then eased forward again and then gently repeated the motion, thrilling as Jim eagerly thrust back. Slowly, carefully, curbing his own demanding need to slam into his partner, Blair took his time establishing the quick, hard pace that would end in climax. The room was almost completely silent except for harsh, grunting breaths, and the sexy, wet, rhythmical slap of flesh against flesh. 

Jim Ellison felt the lips and tongue at the nape of his neck and eased his head back. His hands moved urgently over his cock. 

"I'm close, Chief," he groaned. "I'm so _fucking_ close." 

"S'okay, babe," Blair gasped encouragingly, "Come for me, lover." 

Obedient, as always, to his guide's command, Ellison's strong, muscled back arched. For one glorious moment, time stilled and then he felt searing, consuming heat slice through his lower body. He tensed and groaned as his shuddering cock spewed thick, creamy ropes of completion over his hands. 

Blair thrust through Jim's contractions. His hands tightened, white-knuckled around strong shoulders. He dragged himself forward, and shouted out his own release as he slammed, balls-deep, into slick, snug heat. He leaned into Ellison's strength and his harsh, panting breaths echoed through Jim's lungs. 

For long moments, the two men remained tied together and then, reluctantly, Sandburg moved. 

"Gonna pull out, big guy," he said softly. "Try to relax, this is gonna hurt." 

Jim Ellison's hiss of pain was muffled as he buried his overheated face in the soft, overstuffed cushions of the couch. Soft material was drawn over his sweat-wet back and flanks, his semen painted hands and then pressed tenderly against his ass. He turned slowly, captured an armful of hot, damp guide. Ignoring aching twinges, he sank carefully to the carpeted floor. For long moments, he held Blair close against him and shuddered as the younger man's lips nuzzled across the scar on his chest. 

Jim slid gentle fingers beneath a square, whiskered chin and lifted it. He looked into bright, blue eyes and spoke softly. 

"Why did your relationship with Eli end?" he asked. 

His arm tightened around Sandburg, as the younger man struggled to escape. Firmly, he held Blair's chin, preventing him from looking away. 

"Tell me, Blair," he insisted quietly. 

Sandburg dragged a harsh breath into his nostrils. 

"He...didn't know...I couldn't tell him that you were a sentinel," he blurted out. "He didn't understand why I wouldn't go with him to Borneo. I...I couldn't lie to him but you didn't want...I couldn't tell him the truth, either." 

"I'm sorry, Chief." 

The tenderness in Jim's voice was his undoing. Blair's eyes flooded with tears that overflowed and spilled across his cheeks. 

A jumbled tangle of words, as impossible to halt as the moisture that tracked relentlessly down his face, emerged from Sandburg's mouth. 

"He was going to make me choose and I'd just met you, man. You were a sentinel. _My_ sentinel. You _needed_ me. He only _wanted_ me." 

"Shh," Jim soothed. He tilted Blair's face back and kissed him. His lips were very gentle against a salty mouth. "Eli loved you in his own way. It's okay if you loved him back." 

Blue eyes, magnified by perfect liquid crystal, stared up at him. 

Blair's voice was both a child's cry and a man's plea for understanding. "Yeah, I loved him," he confessed. "I wanted him to be my _father_." 

* * *

**SEPTEMBER**

_For once I can say_  
 _This is mine, you can't take it_  
 _Long as I know I've got love, I can make it_ _For once in my life, I've got someone who needs me_

The sleek, black nose of the gleaming, little Volkswagen Jetta eased slowly into it's accustomed parking spot beside the battered blue Ford Ranger. It rolled to a gentle halt, just inches from the concrete barrier. 

Blair Sandburg sat for a few moments in the car. His hands gripping the steering wheel, he allowed the sunlight that poured through the windshield to bathe his upturned face in warmth and brightness. Consciously, he tried to calm the fear and nervous anticipation that fluttered in his gut. 

'It's good to be alive,' he thought, his mantra for the day. 'Today my world is _not_ wet and cold.' 

Suddenly, he cupped a whimsical fist in front of his mouth and spoke into an imaginary microphone 

"Ladies and gentlemen," he announced in his best 'broadcaster' voice, "for the first time in living memory there is _no_ precipitation in Cascade, Washington." 

Smiling sadly at his hyperbole, he reached for the door handle and exited the car. He stood for a moment in the parking lot and allowed his eyes to drift across the low-rise building that was his home; that had been his first real home. 

The pale brick faade of 852 Prospect Ave. gleamed before him, set within the dazzling, sheer blue of an autumn sky. Fluffy meringue clouds, edged with blinding brightness, soared above, pushed by the fresh breeze that carried with it the kiss of distant snow-capped mountains. 

Blair blinked and wondered if zoning was contagious. 

He forced himself to move, He double checked the locks on the Volkswagen and then walked past the other vehicles, up the concrete steps to lobby, and through the front doors. Hand printed signs proclaimed the elevators out of service again. With an exaggerated sigh, Sandburg pushed into the dingy stairwell. He took the steps two at a time and had scarcely broken a sweat when he arrived home. The enticing odour of baking lasagne made him move just a little faster. 

Jim Ellison straightened from the refrigerator and turned, two Budweisers in hand, as the door behind him opened. Briefly, pale blue eyes swept the slender figure in the entranceway. He watched Blair toe off his black, leather Hush Puppies and drop his keys in the basket. He barely had time to put the beers on the counter before he found himself with a solid armful of guide. 

Blair wrapped his arms around the older man's waist, placed his head against Jim's chest, and held on tightly. Big soothing hands etched gentle circles over the back and shoulders of his black serge suit jacket. 

"Hey, Chief," Jim murmured softly. 

Finally, Blair's grip eased and he tilted his head up and smiled. 

"I'm home, babe." 

Jim regarded him with bemused affection. "I heard you when you got here, Bryant Gumbel. But, just so you know, there _were_ widespread reports of sunshine in Cascade at least twice in the summer of '89" 

A flush warmed Sandburg's cheeks but his grin widened. "Ah, that was the summer I was in Africa," he reminded the older man. "Sorry, I musta missed it." 

He sniffed appreciatively. "You made lasagne? Smells good in here, man" 

Jim smiled, bent his head and impetuously nuzzled Blair's lips. Although he and Blair now regularly shared a bed, they didn't kiss outside of the bedroom. He drew back; his hand rose, and the pad of one thumb tenderly brushed a high cheekbone. 

"You okay, Chief?" 

Blair Sandburg nodded and sighed, "Yeah, I'm fine," he replied. "Just happy to see you...happy to be home, I guess." 

Jim's eyes, as bright as a sun-dappled mountain stream, examined his face. 

"How'd it go today? You made it to the synagogue, I see." 

Jim's hands rose to the top of Blair's head, and with gentle fingers, carefully removed the bobby pins that held a small matte black scrap of satin to dark hair. He folded the skullcap. 

'Kippah,' Jim corrected himself, hearing Blair's chiding voice in his mind, ' "John Paul wears a skullcap, Ellison. I'm Jewish." ' 

He folded the kippah in half and tucked it, and the pins, into the breast pocket of his partner's jacket. He pulled the knot of Blair's thin, black tie down and, with a frown of sympathy, unbuttoned the constricting collar. He loosened the braided length of leather that held unruly curls and then worked his fingers through thick hair. 

"A lot of people at the memorial service?" 

Blair's shoulders rose and fell in a careless shrug. He inclined, like a dog, into the fingertips that gently massaged his head. 

"Not too many. Some of the faculty from Rainier," he replied. "Five or six of his former students. A couple of his wives came--the American ones. His first and fourth, I think," he replied. His voice wavered. "It was kinda sad, really--how few people bothered to show up." 

Ellison leaned forward, his nostrils flaring as he sniffed the lingering scents of burning beeswax candles and incense that had been trapped by glossy twists of hair. 

"You know..." Jim said with clumsy sincerity. "If I hadn't been testifying in the Harrison prelim today, I would have gone with you..." 

Immediately, the pad of Blair's forefinger pressed against his lips and then fell away. 

"S'okay, big guy," Sandburg soothed. "I know you would." 

Strong hands gently steered him backward. Ellison reached for the Buds, popped the caps and handed a bottle to his partner. Gratefully, Blair accepted the beer and tilted it back. The muscles of his throat contracted as he gulped at the sudsy, amber liquid. He lowered the Bud to the counter and looked down at his black suit with distaste. 

"Dinner gonna be long?" he asked. "Do I have time to change?" 

Briefly, his eyes met a perceptive gaze and slid uncomfortably away. 

"There's time. Lasagne's only been in for a half-hour," Jim replied, slowly "I was just going to make a start on the salad." 

Swiftly, Sandburg nodded. "Well I guess I'll just go and..." 

His words halted abruptly as a strong hand closed around his upper arm. He glanced down at Jim's fingers and then up into curious eyes. He felt his breath catch in his throat; his heart began to pound within his chest. He had wanted to avoid this discussion until he had time to process the information, himself. It didn't look like Jim was going to let him. 

"You weren't sure when you left if you were going to go to the lawyer's office for the reading of Eli's will. Did you go?" Ellison asked bluntly. 

Only a sentinel would have caught the tiny hitch in Sandburg's breathing, the almost imperceptible increase in the throb of a steady heartbeat that pumped another wave of colour into Blair's face. 

Ellison's eyes narrowed. "Chief? What did the old fella leave you?" 

Once, a long time ago, Blair Sandburg had written an entire chapter of his thesis, outlining the fear-based responses that governed his sentinel's reactions. He hadn't seen Jim Ellison's fear for a long time. He didn't want Jim Ellison to see _his_ fear now. He drew in a deep breath 

"He left me his house just outside of Cascade," Blair replied, steadily. "It's contents and the surrounding property." 

There was a long moment of silence and swiftly, Sandburg tried to fill up the void with words. 

"It's a nice house but it's way out on the outskirts of the city, man. New highway, notwithstanding, it'd add an extra forty minutes travelling time back and forth to the station. Prob'ly take even longer in the winter. Make it hard to respond quickly to emergency calls too..." 

Jim Ellison smiled. "Easy, Darwin," he broke in softly. "Your heart's beating a mile a minute." 

He cleared his throat. 

"It sounds like you've already been doing some thinking but I don't think you need to decide anything right away. Give yourself some time, Chief. Maybe you should talk to Steven about your inheritance--get a professional opinion." 

The infinitely practical words washed over him and Blair Sandburg's slender shoulders slumped beneath black serge. He wanted to cry. 

"Yeah," he replied dully. 

'So this is how it ends. With a whimper--not a bang,' he thought. 'Jim and I will still be partners--still be friends. We may even sleep together on occasion. We'll just live separately at opposite ends of the city.' 

Hatred for the interfering bastard that had been Eli Stoddard coalesced into an icy core in his gut. Blair slanted a glance at his partner through his lashes. 

"I've gotta get out of this suit, man" he said plaintively. 

Jim nodded but the hand that held Blair's arm tightened almost painfully. 

"Look, Chief," Ellison said softly, necessity dragging reluctant words from him. "I love the loft. I've lived here a long time. But I love you more. It's _okay_ if you want to move into Eli's house...your house. It's bigger than this place so we'd have more room. And it has a yard. Haven't you always wanted a dog? So, don't worry about me...about the loft. Think about what _you_ want for a change, okay? I'll be fine with whatever you decide. You know, 'whither thou goest' and all that. If it takes us a little longer to drive into the station in the morning, we'll deal with it." 

Blair Sandburg nodded automatically and then his lashes flew up and astonished blue eyes, as round as a child's, focussed on his partner's face. 

"'Whither thou goest'?" he repeated, stupidly. "You...you love me more?" 

Ellison nodded impatiently. A little crease appeared between his brows. 

"Yeah," he replied, simply. Big, broad shoulders shrugged. "Of course. The loft is only home because you're here." 

"Oh fuck," Blair breathed. 

Jim drew away and regarded the younger man. His pale eyes were soft with amused affection. "So, I guess this means we're gonna start packing?" 

Vigorously, Blair shook his head. His curls gleamed with the motion. "No. I...I mean, you're right. There's no hurry. We _should_ prob'ly talk to Steven before we decide anything." 

"Okay," Jim replied. 

He was silent for a long moment and then Blair Sandburg watched, astounded, as a slow, luminous smile curved his lips. A low, warm chuckle shimmered in the air between the two men. 

"Actually, I've got to hand it to Professor Stoddard," Ellison said. "Seems he's managed to turn my little Bolshevik hippy into a proper tax-paying citizen." He pressed a swift, hard kiss against Blair's mouth. When he spoke again, his voice was suddenly husky. "Guess I'll be fucking a property owner now." 

Blair froze. He watched Jim and then his tongue emerged from his mouth to tentatively wet his dry lips. Despite the intimacies they regularly shared, it remained remarkably difficult to talk to Jim about sex when they weren't actually doing it. 

"You could, you know," he said. He saw confusion and hastened to clarify. "Fuck me, I mean. Up until now it's only been me doing you..." A hot, rosy, flush rose in his cheeks and he forced himself to speak through his embarrassment. "I...I love it. Being with you, being _in_ you. But it's _okay_ if you want to... do me. I'd love that, too. But you never asked, man..." His brows met as he frowned. "You would like to top me sometime, wouldn't you, big guy?" 

His eyes traced the colour that mounted in Jim's face; watched with fascination, as his partner's ears grew pink. 

"Jesus Christ," Ellison growled softly. "I'm a _man_ aren't I, Chief?" 

A strong hand reeled him in and once again he found himself nestled against a large muscled body. Automatically, Blair tucked his head against Jim's chest and listened to the deep, rumbling voice, punctuated by the reassuring thump of his heart. 

"I want you," Jim said "I don't think you know how much. I'll take you any way you'll let me have you. You in me--me in you--just friends if _that's_ what you want." 

The soft statement was belied by the heavy erection that swelled against his body and Blair Sandburg almost laughed aloud. He took a step back and raised shining blue eyes to Jim's face. 

His voice became a throaty purr, an open invitation. "How much time did you say we had before the lasagne would be ready?" 

Ellison regarded him for long moments and then deliberately reached behind him. A flick of the wrist switched the oven off and he turned to face the younger man, again. 

"I think," Jim's voice was suddenly husky. "I think dinner will be a while yet." 

Blair nodded. "Gonna go up and change my clothes, man. Why don't you...come and give me a hand." 

"Hmm," Ellison agreed. He reached down and his fingers circled a broad palm. He tugged gently and led the younger man from the kitchen and up the stairs to the bedroom that they'd shared so briefly. 

Blair stopped just inside the doorway and then slowly moved forward. The fingers that reached for the large buttons of his suit jacket seemed strangely thick, uncooperative, as he fumbled to open his jacket. Finally, the material parted and he slipped the garment from his shoulders and walked to the closet and hung it up. He unknotted his tie and it hissed as he drew it from the collar of his white shirt. He felt Jim's hand on his shoulder and turned. 

"Your heart is pounding." Ellison murmured. 

Blair stared up into the face of the man who said he loved him. Concern had softened chiselled masculine features. Jim's light blue eyes were tender. 

"I'm not Eli," Jim Ellison continued quietly. "I know I've hurt you in the past, Blair. I don't want to hurt you again--not ever. I don't want to be another man in your life who used you. You're too important to me." He swallowed hard. "We don't have to do this. We don't have to do anything..." 

The halting words helped him to decide. Blair reached up and gently touched his fingertips to his partner's lips. Wonderingly, he outlined soft flesh and then stepped forward, bringing his body into contact with Jim's hard muscled strength. 

"I want this," he said in soft, certain terms. "I want _you_." 

Sandburg hooked his arm around Jim's neck, drew his head down and offered his mouth. He sighed as he felt Jim's lips rest against his own. 

Ellison surrendered. 

His tongue parted the barrier of Blair's lips and slid slowly, sensuously into his mouth, exploring, caressing. When Blair's tongue rose to greet his, he groaned deep in his throat. 

As the two men kissed, Jim reached between their bodies and began the pleasurable task of disrobing his lover. Efficiently, he unbuttoned Blair's shirt and then his palms slid beneath the warm, crisp material and over a furred chest. He cupped Blair's pecs and tugged gently on the silver ring that threaded one of Blair's nipples. 

Blair moaned and Jim lifted his head and smiled. He pulled his hands from Blair's warmth and reached down to unbuckle the younger man's belt. He opened the tab of his dress pants and pulled the zipper down. Sandburg's erection, thick and heavy, was clearly evident beneath black serge. Carefully, Jim outlined the bulge with his fingertips and then stepped back. 

Gripping his sweatshirt with both hands, Ellison pulled it over his head and dropped it at his feet. He reached out and caught Blair's hands and brought them to his torso. 

"Touch me," he commanded. 

Obediently, Blair did as he was told. His fingers smoothed across a sleek bare chest, brushed across the raised scar, learned the sharp edge of Jim's collarbone and the gentle arc of his ribs. 

Carefully, Jim pulled Blair's shirttails from his pants and pushed the garment from Blair's shoulders, down his arms and over his hands and wrists. He hooked his fingers through the belt loops of black serge trousers and pushed them, along with Blair's underwear, down over slender, muscled hips. Sinking to his knees, Ellison gently lifted each of Blair's feet, tugged off his socks and then helped him step out of his pants. He rose gracefully, pushed his own jeans and boxers down and off. Reaching down, he entwined his fingers with Blair's and drew them apart. His gaze swept appreciatively over his lover's body. 

"Beautiful," he muttered. "You're so incredible." 

They were lying on the bed, bodies entwined, when Jim Ellison started talking. He didn't use the bold, lewd sexwords that Eli had taught Blair a lifetime ago, but softer words, tender words of love and praise. 

"You're magic," he murmured as he lifted his mouth from Blair's. The sharp even line of his teeth rasped lightly over Blair's whiskered jaw. "Generous, kind, compassionate. I've never known anyone like you. I've never _loved_ anyone like you." 

"You're strong," he muttered while his hands traced the delineated muscles of Sandburg's shoulders and upper arms. "And you're brave. I am so proud to be your partner." 

His lips suckled one dusky nipple while his fingers pulled on the silver wire that pierced the other. Finally, he looked up. "You saved my life, Chief. Twice. So I'm giving it to you." 

Blair Sandburg writhed against the sheets as Jim reached between his legs and grasped his iron-hard shaft and pumped it. 

"Everything," Jim groaned as Blair returned the favour. "My body. My mind. My soul. They're all yours." 

With single-minded purpose, Ellison tasted his lover's body. He nuzzled salty armpits, drew the flat of his tongue over a quivering belly and sucked each fingertip, each toe. Kneeling between Blair's splayed legs, he lowered his head and snuffled thick pubic hair. He licked the pre-cum from an engorged cockhead and then sucked it into his wet, hot mouth. Spit flowed down as his tongue lapped the sensitive, blue-veined underside of Blair's erection. One hand wrapped his hand around a gleaming shaft and his head bobbed up and down; the fingers of his second hand hefted heavy balls. Blair whimpered with need when he drew away and raised his head. 

"Everything I am--everything I have is yours, Blair." 

Gently, he urged the younger man to his side and then spooned up behind him, his cock nesting between Blair's cheeks. He pushed one of Blair's legs forward, opening his lover to him. His calloused palms swept upward to play over the velvet soft skin of Sandburg's ribs and stomach and then caressed rounded hips. He offered his fingers to Blair to suck, and lubed with the younger man's saliva, used them to carefully stretch the tight, velvet soft entrance to Blair's ass. Only when Sandburg was thrusting back against him, did he reach for the KY. 

"I need you, Blair," he said, his cock poised against the pink budded asshole. He groaned as he slid forward into slippery heat. For as long as he could, he remained unmoving and then he withdrew just a little and then rocked forward. Again and again, he repeated the motion and then reached over Blair's hip and grasped his flagging erection and jerked it to hardness. 

"I want you." 

He gasped as Sandburg pushed back against him. He fought for purchase on sweat-damp sheets and plunged deeper into Blair's body. Using his extra weight and strength, he manoeuvred the younger man up onto his knees. Spreading Blair's buttocks apart, Jim watched the unbelievably arousing sight of his cock disappearing into Blair's ass. He groaned and leaned forward gripping slender hips and thrust. 

"You don't know how long I've wanted to do this to you," Jim gasped into Blair's tangled curls. "How long I've wanted to make love with you, Blair." 

The sweat ran between them. Their bodies glistened like they were oiled and they slid easily against one another. Blair's cock, engorged and throbbing, pushed urgently against his fingers and obediently, Jim masturbated it. The pace increased between them until Jim was mindlessly slamming into slick warmth. 

He felt Blair's balls snug up against his body. The younger man shuddered and cried out as he came. The contractions of his ass milked Jim's cock, pulling his own orgasm from him. Blair collapsed against the bed and, instinctively, Ellison rolled to the side to avoid crushing his smaller partner. He nestled behind Blair and gasped one last declaration into his ear. 

"I'll never leave you. Not as long as I live." 

They lay together, panting, until Jim's cock decreased and slipped from Blair's body. The young man turned on the bed and pulled Ellison into a hard, fierce hug. Finally, he understood. 

"I love you, Jim," he gasped. "I love you so much." 

* * *

**DECEMBER**

The weather was no respecter of national borders. 

A massive cold front, conceived in Canada's frozen north, slowly wended its inexorable way through British Columbia and into Washington State, where it stalled, trapped in the rocky arms of sentry mountains. Temperatures dipped well below seasonal norms and plunged the area into a deep freeze. 

Large, lacy snowflakes, drifted lazily from heavy, low-lying clouds and a veil of sparkling white settled over the city of Cascade. It shrouded bright lights and blunted the harsh angles and edges of monuments and buildings. Ugliness, the ravages of time and city filth was all buried beneath a blanket of pristine softness. 

As though mesmerized by the sight, Blair Sandburg stared out at the falling snow. Finally, he sighed and let the heavy curtain swing back into place. He turned toward the living room and regarded his home with satisfaction. A tall evergreen tree stood in the corner, its blinking lights bathing the cozy room with soft, glowing colour. The fresh scent of pine mingled with the fragrance of the maple logs that burned cheerily in the fireplace. 

Blair wandered across the room to the fire. He held the palms of his hands toward the heat, warming them, and then reached onto the mantle for the can of matches that sat there. With more purpose, he moved to the kitchen and stood in the doorway, watching his lover. 

The flowered apron, that protected Jim Ellison's clothing should have seemed incongruous on the hard, muscled strength of the big cop, but somehow wasn't. He stood at the stove, metal spatula in hand, frying latkes with the ease of a Jewish mother. 

Blair grinned and cleared his throat. 

"Hey, big guy." 

Slowly, Jim turned. His cheeks were flushed from the heat of the stove. He smiled at his partner. 

"Time?" he asked. 

Blair nodded and Jim shovelled the last two crispy, fried potato pancakes onto the piled plate that was warming in the oven. He turned the burner beneath the frying pan off and then untied the apron and slipped out of it. He followed Blair to the small table that sat beside the window near the front door. 

The chanukkiah was a simple one. Carved from heavy stone, it's nine branches stretched upward as though in supplication. Reverently, Blair lit the candle atop the middle--the tallest of the branches--then held the flame to the slender white candle in the first arching branch to the far right. He stepped back, leaned against his partner and felt Jim's arms curve lightly around his waist. 

A little hesitantly, his tongue curled around the Hebrew words that offered the blessing for the first night of Chanukah. 

" _Barukh_ _atah_ _Adonai_ _Elohaynu_ _melekh_ _ha-ola_..." he said slowly. "Blessed are you, Lord, our God, king of the universe..." 

Dreamily, his eyes drawn by the dancing flames, Jim Ellison immersed himself in the rich, sweet tenor of his guide's voice. He lowered his face a little closer to shimmering curls and inhaled Blair's fragrance. Blair's solid upper body, enveloped in soft wool, was warm against him. 

"Amein," Blair said softly. 

"Amen," Jim echoed. His arms tightened briefly. "Now what, Chief?" 

He heard the smile in Blair's voice. "Now we eat." 

The table, set for two, groaned beneath the weight of traditional Jewish foods. Blair uncorked the wine, a fine Riesling, and poured two goblets. 

He had absolutely drawn the line at serving Mogen-David. "There is such a thing as being _too_ Jewish, Ellison," he had told his partner. 

They dug into the feast, eating in silence and then Jim cleared his throat. "Steven left a message today...about the latest offer on the house." 

Blair nodded. "It sounded pretty good. He suggested we take it." 

Ellison frowned. "Are you sure this is what you want to do, Chief?" he asked again, for the hundredth time. 

Blair soothed him with one look from bright, autumn-blue eyes. "Steven said it's a good offer," he reiterated. "I can pay off the last of my student loans, our car loans, put a hefty down payment on Joel Taggart's cabin, and we'll still have a little nest-egg to bank." 

He smiled as he regarded his partner--his lover. 

"Come on, Jim," he chided. "The cabin's a good investment. We'll be able to get out of the city on the week-ends and holidays and give your senses a rest from city toxins." His smile became teasing. "It would also be a pretty spot to retire to, old man." 

Jim nodded thoughtfully and then lowered his fork. He reached out and took a broad hand in his own and held it. 

"I love you, you know." 

Blair's grin broadened. "I love you, too," he returned with an ease that surprised him. 

He reached for his wine glass and held it up. The Riesling glinted ruby red in the light. 

"It's been a hell of a year, Jim" 

"That it has been," Ellison returned with a smile. He carefully tapped the side of his wine glass against Blair's. "Happy Chanukah, Chief." 

"L'Chayim, love. Here's to life." 

* * *

End Three Sixty-Five by Sange: sange_666@hotmail.com

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Disclaimer: _The Sentinel_ is owned etc. by Pet Fly, Inc. These pages and the stories on them are not meant to infringe on, nor are they endorsed by, Pet Fly, Inc. and Paramount. 


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